Midnight Sea
by Milareppa
Summary: Mistrust strains the relationship between two allied worlds and a saboteur makes his presence known on board the Enterprise. Once more the famous crew find themselves in hot water but this time, are the Vulcans friend or foe? [Part 4 added]
1. Coming Home

**Author's Notes:  
23/01/07: **My first fanfiction ever. Chapters 1-4 were written before I took a hiatus from fanfiction due to ill-health. After three years away from this story, I've decided to clean up what has been written before writing the rest.

* * *

**Prologue: _Coming Home_**

_"I must go down to the sea again,  
To the lonely sea and the sky.  
And all I ask is a tall ship,  
And a star to steer her by."_

Maesfield's famous poem echoed inside the head of the Captain of the U.S.S _Enterprise_, as he sat on the edge of his command chair, eyes fixed firmly on the view screen ahead. One spot on the view screen. One star. The same star all eyes on the bridge were fixed on.

It wasn't even a star, it was a planet. _The_ planet. Earth. Home.

God, how long had it been? Five years? The time had flown by and, at the same time, it had been an eternity. An eternity of exploration, excitement and comradeship. Kirk had been uncertain when he first took command from Captain Pike, a little in awe of the shoes he would have to fill. He had hidden it well behind the brashness of youth, an easy manner, and arrogant confidence. But in his secret heart, he had been nervous, even fearful, that he would not live up to what was required of him, what this ship required of him, what Starfleet - what Earth - expected of him. And there had been times when he had despaired of ever achieving this, of ever reaching the goals he had set himself.

Had he ever regretted his decision to take this command, to enter the unknown, to go where no man had gone before?

Hell, no.

This was who he was and, if ever he had questioned that when leaving Earth at the start of his five year mission, now, as they approached Earth at the end of it, no such doubts lingered.

"Be humble for you are made of earth. Be noble for you are made of stars." 

"What was that, Lieutenant?" Kirk roused himself from his reverie as he heard the Communications Officer mumble.

There was silence for a moment. He swivelled around in his seat to look at her, noting absently there wasn't a dry eye on the Bridge. Well, not a dry _Human_ eye, he amended quickly; his Science Officer was the only one not staring at that tiny pinprick of light Sulu had somehow identified as their destination from all the other tiny pinpricks of light.

There was an ephemeral glow to Uhura's cheeks as the Captain's eye fell on her, and she cleared her throat, not meeting his gaze. "Just a quote, Captain," she murmured, embarrassed she had spoken aloud.

Kirk grinned sympathetically at her. It was good to be coming home at last. "Understood, Lieutenant."

"Yeah. You don't get shot for expressing feelings," McCoy drawled from where he was leaning on the rails between Uhura and Spock. He flicked a glance at the Vulcan, who barely shifted position. Not even a raised eyebrow - it was as if he hadn't heard the Doctor's dig.

McCoy frowned and looked at Kirk, who met his gaze with weary resignation. It had taken a long time to build up the rapport for which the command crew, and three in particular, had become famous but in the last two years of the mission, that rapport had splintered slightly. The First Officer of the _Enterprise_ had withdrawn slowly behind a rigid mask of Vulcan control and not even Kirk had been able to break it down. Occasionally, there were glimpses of the old Spock behind the mask, but that had become rarer as time progressed.

Kirk knew what McCoy's theory was. Spock's anti-social behaviour had started shortly after leaving Sarpeidon, towards the end of their third year into the mission. McCoy was convinced he had never dealt with the loss of Zarabeth. Spock had denied it, emphatically explaining to McCoy and Kirk when confronted, that extensive meditation on the matter had proven satisfactory and the events of that tragic time had been consigned to his past. The subject had never been raised again but Spock's isolation had continued. Now it was normal, accepted reluctantly. For the majority of the crew it changed little but for the command crew, those who knew him best and considered him a friend, the worry had become an unwelcome, but now familiar, companion.

"0900 hours." Sulu's voice brought Kirk's attention back to the viewscreen.

"What? Everyday?" Chekov sounded slightly dismayed.

Sulu laughed. "That's hardly early, Pavel!"

Chekov looked mortified. "I was planning a lie-in for at least a couple of days!"

"We'll be starting the second week, you've got time," Sulu's grin was almost catlike.

Chekov sighed.

"You're going ahead with the fencing lessons?" Uhura asked curiously.

Sulu twisted slightly and winked at her. "Three months of shore leave while they refit the _Enterprise_. He's going to hate me by the time I'm done with him."

She grinned. "You're going to be in 'Sisco for this?"

"Yes, ma'am!"

"It is a travesty," Chekov shook his head. "America is not the place to learn fencing. The best schools are in Russia!"

A ripple of laughter around the bridge cut him off. "Didn't we kick you out of that habit, Pavel?" McCoy chuckled.

"But it's true, sir!" Chekov couldn't quite hide his grin.

"Ensign. Man your station."

Spock's flat, inflectionless voice stopped the merriment with more force than if he had shouted. Flushing, Chekov swung back to his station, correcting the navigation controls he had, for a moment, taken his attention off, muttering an apology only sharp Vulcan hearing could detect. Immediately, everyone was back to duty, heads down, barely breathing as they became aware of the speed at which Kirk and McCoy turned to stare at the First Officer. But the Vulcan had already turned back to his console, once more staring into the depths of his scanner as if oblivious to the effects his terse words had on the crew.

Eyes narrowed, McCoy bounced on the balls of his feet and, for a moment, Kirk expected him to direct some kind of comment towards Spock. Instead the doctor walked around the railings. Glancing at him, he moved towards the turbolift doors. Kirk rose and joined him, guessing his CMO didn't want Spock to overhear whatever he wanted to say.

"Officers meeting, informal. My quarters, twenty hundred hours. Without You Know Who," McCoy's voice was terse and so quiet the Captain had to strain to hear him at all. For a moment, the doctor's blue eyes met his, a gaze of steel. Then he turned away and stepped into the waiting turbolift, leaving Kirk staring in consternation at a pair of closed doors.

* * *

To say there was silence would be inaccurate. The gentle hum of the engines that one could hear when there was quiet, was an ever constant presence in the background and the floor reverberated softly in time with this mechanical music. There was no silence - but there was no Human activity. No voices. No chaos.

Was there peace?

His meditation almost ended there and then. _Was there peace? _There had been no peace in 1.93 years. If he was honest with himself; which was less often than others might suppose. He wondered what the good doctor would say if he realised just how difficult Spock found it to meditate these days.

When was the last time meditation had been successful?

For a moment, the Vulcan could not even remember and his eyes flew open to stare at the softly glowing flame before him, his only visible sign of distress to the walls who were his witness. 8.4 months. He should not have this difficulty in recalling precisely the order of events that touched his life. He was without balance, his centre was lost and, for a moment, there was a flutter of something in his stomach. Panic?

Spock closed his eyes, determined to achieve balance but though he slipped into superficial calm, his heart beat restlessly, a little more erratically than normal, and his breathing refused to drop. Once more he attempted to analyse the sense of loss he was facing, a sense of something missing that he only truly became aware of when he attempted to meditate, the ... _emotion_ that had thwarted his Vulcan peace for so long.

He did not truly understand it and this lack of understanding affected him in ways he was only peripherally aware of. He knew what it reminded him of; he had felt unsettling loss after Omicron Ceti III and again after Sarpeidon. Both times, extensive meditation had brought him understanding; the lessons he had learned from these two planets were the same - the two women he had shared his time with had manipulated his emotions. While Vulcan instinct and Human need meant such emotions existed deep within his soul, it had not been his choice - or his desire - to experience them. He had learned something about himself each time, something valuable. And while he found the manipulation of both women abhorrent, he also valued their actions - _his_ actions - for helping him to better understand himself.

So, if he was not unfamiliar with this sensation of loss, why then was he unable to come to terms with it? To acknowledge it existed, to accept it as part of him and who he was, and therefore to move on? What was different now compared to Omicron Ceti III and Sarpeidon? He did not understand.

But he knew one thing. The closer to Earth and the end of their mission they had come, the stronger grew his disquiet and the more difficult it was to meditate.

Many times he had tried to find a link between the end of the mission and this ... _unease_ he was experiencing. Was it the sense of things ending that had made him uneasy? He discarded that idea immediately. 57 per cent of the surviving crew had already declared their intent to sign up for the _Enterprise_'s second tour, including the command crew. He himself had not yet decided to rejoin but there was no sense of ending among the crew of the _Enterprise_, more a sense of ... renewal.

His disquiet confused him and created unusual indecision. His eyes opened again, this time to stare at the wall, the weapons gracing it and the deep red shades that reminded him of the Vulcan sunset. For a moment he almost felt homesick and, not for the first time, his thoughts turned to Gol. An emotional imbalance within him had brought him to an impasse Vulcan discipline was completely unable to resolve. His logic had failed. Because of emotion. This was not right. This was not Vulcan. It needed to be redressed.

But was Gol the answer? The disciplines would strip him of emotion; it would not find the cause of what was wrong, it would ignore the problem completely. That bothered him more than he cared to admit. He found himself contemplating Doctor McCoy and wondered briefly what his sparring partner would say to such an idea. He knew the answer: to McCoy - to any doctor - it would be comparable to a surgeon that had decided curing gangrene was unimportant as long as severing a damaged leg would stop the wound from getting worse. It defied the pursuit of knowledge by refusing to address why the wound had become infected in the first place. To purge emotion without understanding its source would deny self-knowledge.

Was not the pursuit of self-knowledge a worthwhile endeavour?

Was that not the point of Vulcan meditation?

He allowed himself to indulge in a moment of weary amusement. When he had first mentioned Gol to his parents 4.32 months ago, his mother had reacted with typical Human dismay but his father's reaction had been so unexpected that Spock had frozen in his tracks. His father had said very little, neither support nor protest, and had instead asked a single question. One Spock had not immediately been able to answer

_"Our people know suppression and discipline is necessary but if its absence was logical would emotion have evolved on Vulcan?"_

It was an almost heretical thing for the Ambassador to have even thought. But he had not just thought it, he had spoken it. Then left it hanging in the air for Spock to answer.

Spock's amusement now, no matter how briefly felt, was his acknowledgement of the irony that his father's question finally made sense; Gol would remove the emotions without granting understanding of the situation that had created the imbalance in the first place. Logic dictated his emotional imbalance was telling him something wrong had occurred that had not been resolved. All he was required to do was identify what that something was. Once identified, he could ensure the situation never arose again. Exorcising his emotions would deny him the value of a learning curve. It was not the solution.

Therefore, he would return to the _Enterprise_ for a second tour, instead of journeying to Gol.

Decision made, and with it a sense of ... relief. Spock accepted that relief, recognising it for what it was, and then ruthlessly put it aside.

But it was almost with frustration that he realised his sense of unease remained.

* * *

Kirk wasn't late to the doctor's quarters that night. Not really. Three minutes past time, something Spock might have commented on but nothing a Human would raise an eyebrow at. He was therefore surprised to find himself the last person to arrive, McCoy's room already overflowing with everyone - Scott, Sulu, Uhura, Chekov, and, of course, the CMO himself. They were already discussing the subject for which Kirk knew McCoy had convened this meeting.

"Well, Bones?" he slumped wearily onto the Doctor's bunk as McCoy slid over to give him room.

McCoy's gimlet stare raked over everyone but it was Scott who spoke. "Aye, Captain. We're at our wits end with Spock. The damn Vulcan's got a bee in his bonnet about something and he sure won't budge on what. He's had maintenance stripping down Engineering for two weeks because of a misalignment in the coils that even I cannot detect! Claims he can _hear_ it! My engines!" The engineer looked flushed and harried as he finished his outburst.

"And Science is walking on eggshells, Captain. They're working themselves to the bone for fear of his disapproval," Uhura glanced solemnly at Chekov who was looking at his feet. The ensign had always been incredibly loyal to Spock and was obviously feeling guilty about being present.

Kirk sighed. He didn't want to hear it but he knew that Spock often had to be pushed into admitting when something was wrong. "I can't deny that the Bridge has been a rather tense place for the past few weeks," he confessed slowly. "The minute Spock steps out of the turbolift, I can feel everyone's stress level rise," he leaned forward. "But Spock's insisting everything is fine and, honestly, gentlemen - ladies," he nodded to Uhura. "Has Spock actually done anything to endanger this ship or the crew?"

There were reluctant shakes of the head.

"Has he done anything that is not regulation or against the principles of Starfleet?"

There were a few sighs. McCoy opened his mouth but Kirk raised a hand to stall him. "And has he made anyone do anything they did not sign up to Starfleet to do?"

"Dammit, Jim, that's not the point and you know it!" McCoy's face turned purple.

"Bones. He's acting like a Vulcan. Are you going to try him for that?"

"Jim, open your eyes! Spock acts like Spock, and whoever the hell is up there doing your First Officer's job, it damn well isn't Spock!"

For a moment Kirk and McCoy glared at each other while the others watched in uncomfortable silence. "Bones, you know I can get Spock to tell me what's going on, eventually. It usually ends up with me threatening him in his quarters, but he does come round. I've spent months asking him if anything's wrong. He keeps insisting everything is fine. Let's say you're right and he is bottling something up. It's not like him to not confide in me what's wrong - and you know it."

"And if I'm right about it being Sarpeidon?" there was a challenge in McCoy's voice.

Kirk shifted uncomfortably, knowing the others in the room didn't know the full story of what had happened to McCoy and Spock there. "Bones, he was willing to talk about Omicrom Ceti III. And he seemed willing enough to discuss Sarpeidon."

McCoy flung up his hands in disgust. "There's talk and then there's discussion. Vulcans don't talk and they're damn good at discussing around the subjects they should be talking about."

Kirk's eyes narrowed. "You think he's not really faced what happened to him there?"

McCoy shrugged. "All I know is something's got him ill as a hornet. And it started just after we left Sarpeidon's system. So you tell me. What else could it be?"

The others listened to the pair debate in silence. They all knew from the reports that Sarpeidon had broken down the years of discipline and logic, making Spock emotional, aggressive and even barbaric. But aside from knowing that McCoy had been the one to snap Spock out of it and get him safely back to the _Enterprise_, little else was known.

"What do you suggest, Bones?" Kirk sounded tired.

"Well, we're on this ship for another two days. Then we've got three months shore leave. We can probably put up with him for that long. But Jim, you better tell him to see someone he can talk to before the next tour, before I have to make a psychological evaluation about his fitness to remain in Starfleet!"

Kirk stared at him. "You can't be serious, Bones!"

"Jim, at this point I'll wager he's not even meditating, and for a Vulcan that's serious!" McCoy took a deep breath, visibly restraining himself.

"But a psychological evaluation? Bones, you can't even get Spock in for a physical without a fight. You won't get him to speak to a counsellor."

"I was thinking of the Vulcan Embassy," McCoy said soberly. "They have Vulcan Healers there. I don't hold with all that brain poking that goes on, but Spock does. And if he won't talk to you, maybe he'll talk to one of them."

Kirk considered it. Then glanced at the others. Scott nodded gravely at his look. It was clear they agreed with McCoy. "Alright," he agreed reluctantly. "I'll talk to Spock one last time."

Uhura sighed. "You know, this might sound weird but it's a pity Chris isn't here."

They all looked at her in surprise. "You're right, Nyota, that does sound weird," McCoy rubbed his chin wearily, feeling the five o'clock shadow.

"I was just thinking that she used to be able to tell at a glance what was going on inside his head. Even when you and Jim had to bully it out of him, she'd always know. Or guess. I'm not sure which, but she was spot on every time."

"How is Chris doing, anyway?" Kirk asked, glad of the subject change.

Uhura glanced at McCoy, who grinned. "The girl's finished her M.D. She said she's got it, won't tell me the grade. Said she wanted to talk to me in person," he glanced at Uhura to see if she had anything to add.

Uhura nodded. "Same thing she told me," she smiled. "I think Chris likes stretching this out, which makes me think she did quite well. Bones, wasn't she on Vulcan until recently?"

He nodded. "Follow up on her thesis and dissertation. The Vulcan Science Academy was impressed with her papers. She was cited by their best minds as ... let me remember what she quoted ..."

"...'For a Human, Doctor Chapel has a most logical argument and her debate shows method and organisation,'" Uhura finished, eyes twinkling.

There were chuckles all round. "High praise, coming from Vulcans," Chekov sighed enviously.

"What was her thesis on?" The minute Kirk said it he knew he was going to regret it, but McCoy was already responding.

"'Cognitive neuroscience, a neurological study of extraterrestrial environmental acclimatisation.' She concentrated on Vulcans, Humans, Andorians and Trill who had lived for extensive periods of time on other planets," McCoy rattled off easily. "I believe she also took advantage of the situation to do a comparative study of the stress factors affecting metahypothalmic development in extraterrestrial environments too. It's this last paper that has the Vulcans buzzing. Her work is only preliminary, but it's setting the groundwork for further studies that could impact space travel."

Kirk's eyes were starting to glaze over slightly, but he could see McCoy had almost puffed up with fatherly pride and couldn't help smiling. "So, what's that in English, Bones?"

"Space travel and alien worlds might affect telepathic development, Captain," Chekov grinned.

Kirk looked heavenward. "What, and countless reports by overworked, downtrodden Starfleet captains isn't good enough that they've got to send scientists out to confirm it?" His words were harsh, but his grin was growing.

"Aye, Captain, and if they did it more of the time, it might keep some of them too busy to strip out my engines!" Scott shook his head mournfully.

"Scotty, anyone tell you that you have a one track mind?" Kirk glanced at the affronted expression on his Second Officer's face and laughed.

"Are you planning on taking shore leave, Mr. Scott, or are you going to make sure Starfleet doesn't damage Engineering too badly during the refit?" Uhura grinned.

A steel-eyed glint came into Scott's dark eyes at that. "They've banned me from stepping foot on the _Enterprise_ while they refit her. Banned me! I'll be having words with what ever paper pushing bureaucrat decided that, you mark my words, lass."

Sulu laughed. "They know you too well, Scotty. What are you going to do for shore leave, then?"

"Och, there's a three week conference on a new shuttle design for the Constitution class, and then seminars on potential warp engine modifications and nacelle bracings," Scott seemed to be cheering up even as he thought about it.

McCoy shook his head and eyed Scott suspiciously. "If I wasn't your physician, Mr. Scott, I'd swear there was green blood in your veins."

"What about you, Captain?" Sulu asked.

Kirk grinned. "There's a mountain in Yellowstone with my name on it. Decided whether you're coming yet, Bones?"

McCoy shook his head in disgust. "I'm planning on waiting for Chris and finding out what she's got in mind for her new M.D. I'm hoping she'll take our xenology post in Science for the next tour since we're losing Matthews after this mission. I could use a doctor with a good knowledge of non-Human anatomy to back me up."

"What about M'Benga?"

"He isn't sure if he's joining us next tour."

"I'll help you convince Chris to sign up next tour, Bones," Uhura grinned evilly at McCoy, who winked rakishly back.

Kirk chuckled. "Well, if that's this little get together sorted out, I've got an early day on the Bridge tomorrow, and an anti-social Vulcan to track down beforehand." He rose and, to a chorus of "good night" and "good luck," exited McCoy's quarters.

* * *

Kirk's cheerful mood evaporated the moment McCoy's doors shut behind him. He moved off, making a beeline for Spock's quarters. This would not be pleasant. It might not even be fruitful. But his friends were right - it needed to be done. He took a deep breath and palmed the door chime.

"Enter."

Spock's response was immediate and restrained. In a word, normal. Holding his breath, hoping that response meant things really were normal, Kirk stepped into the hot, dimly lit quarters.

As he entered, the Vulcan turned away from his computer desk, dressed in robes rather than his uniform. Kirk stopped in consternation. "I'm sorry Spock, I didn't mean to disturb your meditation."

"You did not."

Kirk studied Spock closely. The Vulcan did not elaborate, nor did he initiate further conversation. He placed his hands behind his back, canted his head very slightly, and watched his Captain with patience and quiet dignity. Kirk couldn't make out the existence of a single emotion on that austere face. It unsettled him. He used to be able to read Spock so well.

"Spock ... I was wondering if you were up for a game of chess tonight," he began, suddenly a little unsure of how to approach the subject.

"I am not."

Again, no more words than necessary, no explanation forthcoming. Kirk felt his temper fray.

"Dammit, Spock, it's me! Jim! Your friend! You remember what that is? What the hell is going on with you these days!" he regretted the words the moment they were said, but he could not, would not, take them back.

Spock didn't move. He didn't even raise an eyebrow. "Is there something you require of me, Captain?"

"I require your honesty!"

"Captain, Vulcans do no--"

"Cut it out, Spock. Something's chewing you up and spitting you out all over this ship. The lower decks are scrambling to avoid you and command is worried sick about you. Bones is calling you 'more Vulcan than Vulcan' but I don't agree." He took a step closer and Spock's head lifted slightly, as if unsettled by the approach, but he did not back away. "If you were behaving like a Vulcan, you would be unaffected by emotion. But if I had to describe you right now, I'd say you were ... " he paused. How would he describe the Vulcan's behaviour, anyway? "Irritable!"

"You ascribe emotions where none exist."

Kirk stabbed a finger at Spock's chest, although he didn't actually touch the Vulcan. "You are irritable, Mr Spock. You're using the differences that exist between Vulcan and Human lifestyles to vent your frustration. Some people might scream and shout when they become emotional. Others become ... picky. They nit-pick everything. They complain constantly. You, Mr. Spock, are doing the latter. If you are not being motivated by emotion as you claim, why have you recently become so intolerant of the differences between Vulcans and Humans?"

Spock's eyes flickered. It was only a brief reaction but Kirk didn't miss it. He didn't recognise the emotion, however. It was gone too fast. "Spock, talk to me," he said more softly. "You know full well anything you say won't leave this room."

The Vulcan's head bowed slightly, so Kirk pressed on. "Is Bones right, Spock? Does Sarpeidon still bother you? Or is it something else?"

"I am unable to meditate," the Vulcan's voice was barely audible to Kirk and it took a moment for the words to sink in. Kirk watched Spock gravely, not speaking. So McCoy had been right about the meditation. Did that mean he was right about Zarabeth as well?

"How long?" Kirk asked softly.

"8.4 months."

Kirk frowned. "What happened 8.4 months ago?"

Spock lifted his head and regarded Kirk with a steady gaze. "Nothing of note, Captain. I had been ... " he trailed off. "I had been finding meditation was not resolving my ... questions adequately for some time before then."

"So how long in total?"

"2.01 years."

Kirk felt a surge of irritation flood through him. "Spock! You lied to me. All this time you stood there saying to my face that everything was fine!"

"I believe I told you that my questions concerning Sarpeidon were answered. That meditation had brought me resolution on that matter." Spock's tone was patient.

"Then what the hell is bothering you so much that you cannot meditate!"

Spock took a step back in the face of Kirk's outburst. Kirk reigned in his temper. Spock, like all Vulcans, claimed to be merely a touch telepath but Kirk sometimes wondered how accurate that really was. He had seen so many occasions where Spock had communicated telepathically without using touch that he often wondered whether Vulcans had some kind of law dictating acceptable use of telepathy and, if so, whether those constraints masked the true extent of Vulcan abilities. Certainly the times Spock had been involved in telepathic contact without touch, it had been against his will - either through orders, or through initiation by another party. But sometimes, like now, when he stepped away from those who were not in contact with him but emotionally stressed, Kirk's curiosity would rise again. He would never ask. He doubted he would ever be given an answer if he did.

"I do not know." Spock's confession was soft, almost beyond hearing again.

Kirk stared. "What do you mean you don't know?"

The Vulcan looked up again, the gaze steady but with a faint hint of reproach in those dark eyes. "Nothing of significance happened 2.01 years ago yet I have experienced ... unease ... since that time that has made it difficult for me to meditate for 1.93 years. Meditation has failed for 8.4 months."

Kirk's eyes glazed over. 2.01 years ago, what had been the stardate then? He glanced at Spock's console, about to ask the computer when Spock spoke again.

"Fifteen days after our rendezvous with the _Potemkin_ and Starbase 2 regarding the actions of Doctors Lester and Coleman." The Vulcan's voice was almost gentle.

Kirk stiffened slightly at the memories that evoked, still finding the subject of what had happened then between himself and Lester difficult to talk about. Spock seemed to understand because he was silent again, watching his Captain with that familiar, patient gaze that Kirk hadn't seen for months. Kirk pushed the thoughts away and frowned. "Spock, we had quiet for three months after that. We were mapping binary systems and doing geological surveys. Nothing happened."

"Yes, Captain."

Kirk stared at Spock. "Did anything happen to you while we were engaged with the _Potemkin_ or docked at the starbase?"

"No, Captain. I had only peripheral contact with the _Potemkin_ and I did not beam down to the starbase. Experiments in biolab 2 were at a critical phase and required hourly monitoring."

"So, in short, nothing out of the ordinary happened?"

"Correct, Jim."

Kirk gave Spock a sharp look. It had been a long time since Spock had called him anything other than 'Captain' but he didn't take it as a good sign. The usually placid expression was ruffled by a mild consternation. In a Vulcan that indicated deep distress.

He leaned forward. "Spock. Bones is worried that if he has to do a psychological evaluation of you, your fitness for duty might be called into question. When we're on Earth he wants you to visit the Vulcan Embassy and speak to a Healer. I agree with him. I don't know what's wrong with you, my friend, but this can't continue."

Spock studied Kirk silently for a few minutes. "Understood, Captain," he said quietly.

Kirk nodded. "Alright, Spock," he sighed heavily. "I'll see you on the Bridge tomorrow."

The Vulcan nodded once, and Kirk left.

It was only later that night, as the Captain was drifting off to sleep, that he realised Spock hadn't necessarily agreed to speak to a Vulcan Healer after all.


	2. A Fresh Start

**Author's Notes:  
28/01/07: **I've revamped and replaced the contents of this chapter.

* * *

**Chapter One: _A Fresh Start_**

The smoke that lazily twisted and wound its way through the air swirled maniacally for a moment as the doors opened, parting with the breeze brought in from the outside world. Kirk cleared his throat as he entered, feeling the tar choke his lungs. _Evolved Human sensibility_, he thought ironically_, and we still like to poison ourselves in the name of having a good time_. He paused, glancing around. It was a modern bar, with twentieth century decor - dark wood finish, dimly lit atmosphere, haphazardly arranged seating. Even the alcohol was served by an old fashioned pull. It was certainly atmospheric - he could understand why McCoy had chosen this location.

Now, if only he could find him.

A slim arm slid through his and hugged it tightly. He looked down to see the petite form of Uhura at his side. Her grin was sultry and, although he wasn't sure if she ever planned that smile, every time she used it men would attempt to walk on water for her. "This way, Jim," she said, tugging him lightly to lead him into the crowd.

"Were you waiting in ambush?" he followed without complaint.

Her rich laugh resounded through the room. "Something like that. Did you find that mountain with your name on it?"

Kirk sighed. "I got within sight of it then received a communiqué saying that my nephew had arrived home, so I had to go mingle for a few weeks," he made a face, then smiled wryly. "Next time I go mountain climbing, remind me not to take my communicator."

"How is Peter?" Uhura smirked at his long-suffering expression. She wasn't fooled for an instant.

"Doing fine, all things considered. His grades are picking up again. He's decided to go into medicine," he nudged her conspiratorially. "Speaking of achievements. Congratulations on yours."

A smile of pure joy spread across the face of the _Enterprise_'s newest Lieutenant Commander. Then she nudged him back. "Hush, it's not official yet. The others don't know. You're not supposed to know either."

The Captain looked amused. "Neither are you," he pointed out, although he wasn't really surprised. Her information network was even more impressive than his was. Between the pair of them, they were capable of ferreting out almost any secret within Starfleet when they put their minds to it.

And he had to hand it to her: the expression of shock that spread across her beautiful features looked absolutely genuine. "Then, Captain, you shouldn't have told me," she chastised in an impressively indignant tone.

Kirk just laughed, part of him wondering if he should be taking as much pleasure in her rank gain as he was. Highly intelligent and a full head of steam, the woman was a delight to work with - and a challenge. As a Lieutenant Commander, he was certain she would spend the next five-year mission keeping him on his toes. He grinned at the thought. At least he wouldn't be alone in his misery - she had always given the First Officer a run for his money as well.

"Bones' vacation hasn't gone as planned either," she smiled wryly at his amusement but swept onwards, ensuring the subject was firmly changed. She wasn't a particularly modest woman but neither did she belabour her successes more than she was supposed to.

Especially when she wasn't yet supposed to know about them.

"What happened?" For a moment, Kirk was concerned, but the amused look Uhura shot him allayed his fears.

"Chris was delayed on Vulcan; the Science Academy doesn't seem to want to let her go. She arrives on Earth next week. Bones has barely had any contact with her, and her last message said she was awaiting assignment to her new posting."

"What is her new posting?"

"I don't know. She said she was headed to Starfleet to discuss that, but I think Starfleet want her to take up a permanent position on Vulcan. M'Benga has already gone out there, and they want him to have a Human colleague. The chances are it's going to be Chris. Bones has been like a bull with a sore head. She has so many reviews and a new position to arrange. When she reaches Earth, we'll only have two weeks before the _Enterprise_ ships out. Bones is beginning to realise he won't get to see her in person," she smiled wistfully. "I would have liked to meet up with her too. She was Valedictorian, you know."

"She was?" Kirk struggled to picture his calm, efficient, former Head Nurse as a Valedictorian M.D. and a scientist held in high demand on Vulcan. It was hard but, at the same time, unsurprising. He grinned to himself at his completely illogical reaction. "Good for her!"

Uhura just grinned and gestured him to a spare seat, flopping down in her seat between Scott and Chekov. McCoy waved Kirk over just as Sulu arrived with a tray full of drinks and a huge grin.

"Beer for me, bourbon for the good doctor, cocktail for the lovely Nyota," he winked at Uhura. "And a good old fashioned pint for the Captain," Sulu laid the drinks out as Kirk pulled up a chair. The Captain blinked at the amount of shorts left on the tray that Sulu promptly placed between Scott and Chekov, who were sizing each other up like gladiators.

"They aren't?" Kirk muttered to McCoy as the pair separated out the vodkas from the scotch.

"Matter of national pride," McCoy said gravely and knocked back his bourbon. "They got any more of this stuff?" he cleared his throat.

"How are you holding up, Bones?"

"One! Two! Three!" Sulu yelled, and Scott and Chekov knocked back their drinks.

Kirk couldn't help noticing that they already looked unsteady and he wondered how long this competition had been in progress. McCoy grunted and his attention returned to the physician. "Goddamn bureaucratic tape," the doctor growled. "I've lost my damn ACMO, Jim, and Starfleet had the gall to tell me yesterday! I'm never going to get a replacement by the time we leave. They're the same idiots who have blown any chance I had of seeing Chris before we leave!"

"Didn't she take the post you offered?"

"Not the damn point. Those blasted pointy-eared hobgoblins want her for themselves, and that's a better position than a science posting on the _Enterprise_."

A sudden flashback to a distant memory suddenly made Kirk chuckle. "I'm not so sure, Bones."

McCoy glanced at Kirk, for a moment uncomprehending.

"Your favourite Vulcan wouldn't be in Starfleet if that was true." Kirk winked at him.

McCoy stabbed a finger at him. "And that's another thing, Jim! Where the hell has Spock been for the past three months? Have you seen him?"

Kirk frowned. "I haven't seen much of him, I have to admit. He's spent most of his time attending science seminars at Starfleet."

"Yeah, that's the only place I've been running into him too. Did he go to the Vulcan Embassy?"

"I don't know, Bones."

McCoy muttered something under his breath. "I need another drink," he growled and, hauling himself out of his seat, he headed off to the bar.

There was a crash at the end of the table as Chekov slowly crumpled. Scott gave Sulu and Uhura a smug grin. "Aye, Cap'in," he slurred, focusing on Kirk for a moment, then slowly slumped down next to Chekov.

* * *

Christine Chapel, M.D.

Even now, four months after she had officially graduated, seeing her name written like that still made her grin. She clambered off the shuttle with a wave to the driver and headed into Starfleet headquarters. She had only been on Earth for a day but it already felt like an eternity. There was so much she wanted to get done now she was home and there just didn't seem to be enough time - not if she wanted to take up McCoy on his offer of a medical position back on board the _Enterprise_.

She swallowed nervously as she hurried through the corridors. She had asked Starfleet if she could accept the posting without the command crew being any the wiser, so she could surprise them. It was a whimsical request, and had therefore been initially frowned on. If not for Admiral Nogura, it probably would have been denied. She wasn't certain why Nogura had agreed, but he had insisted that regulations be followed. She would be allowed to surprise her CMO and Captain but the First Officer would be required to know of the crew listings in advance.

Chapel slid onto a bench beside a drinks dispenser and took a deep breath, remembering how hard she had fought to keep her countenance free of reaction when the Admiral had informed her. She had agreed, of course, but she couldn't help thinking that Spock would be the last person to approve her return to the _Enterprise_.

She squeezed her eyes shut for a moment. She had worked hard to forget that the psi 2000 virus, Plutonius and the infamous soup incident had ever happened - she would be damned before she allowed herself to lose her self-control now because of those memories; because of the nervousness that was responsible for the evocation of those memories. She took another deep breath, determined to consign the past to where it belonged, knowing that she wouldn't be obsessing so much about the mistakes of her past career if she didn't care so much about the nature of her future career. Only when she had composed herself, did she rise to complete her journey to Admiral Nogura's office.

She couldn't see any logical reason why the Vulcan would deny her request to return to the _Enterprise_. She had gained rank, she was an M.D., she had a bioresearch related Ph.D., she had graduated Valedictorian. And, heck, the Vulcan Science Academy loved her. She grinned to herself at the thought of any of the Vulcans she had interacted with 'loving' her; but they had commended her logic, methodology and organisational skills, and complements on Vulcan didn't get better than that. Especially for a Human.

But still, she did have a lingering fear that the last thing Spock would want was to be reminded of the same events she herself had worked so hard to forget. She gritted her teeth. The _Enterprise_ was _the_ ship to be on right now. It was _the_ place to be for scientific research, cultural exposure and Starfleet fieldtime. She was fed up of putting her life on hold for other people and she wasn't going to turn down the chance to stretch and challenge her abilities just because of a stupid attachment she couldn't control. Besides, it wasn't like Spock could really deny her return on the grounds of her unfortunate emotions. Even Humans would find such a rejection illogical.

It was therefore with complete confidence that she strode up to Nogura's office and rapped on the door. There was no logical reason to deny her request. She was sure of it.

The secretary buzzed her in and asked her to wait for Nogura to call her, then announced over the comm that Dr. Chapel was waiting for him. Chapel felt a warm glow spread through her at being called "Doctor" and wondered if this feeling of accomplishment would ever wear off. She rose as the secretary nodded for her to go in, knocked the door from force of habit, then stepped into his office.

The first thing she noticed was that the Admiral was not alone. Commander Spock was present was well. The second thing she noticed, as they both turned to face her, was how frozen their faces were. Expressionless. Nogura could have been a Vulcan himself, for all the emotion he currently displayed. Her heart sank into her boots. There was no pleasure, no joy, no anticipation of good news, and she knew then that Spock had found a reason to deny her the posting. She swallowed and came to a stop. "Admiral. Commander." Her voice was calm. She was not going to let them - _him_ - see an embarrassing emotional display.

Nogura indicated to the seats, and Chapel quietly took one. A heartbeat later, Spock sat down. Nogura remained standing and Chapel felt the nerves rustling in her stomach again.

"Your qualifications are impressive, Doctor Chapel," Nogura said gravely. Chapel focused on him immediately. Spock was watching her with a closed expression but she ignored him, concentrating on the ranking officer in the room. "As are your achievements in the four months since graduating. It's a daunting task to attempt to be received as an academic equal by Vulcan scientists but I hear you managed that quite successfully, if what the Vulcan Ambassador has been telling me is accurate. And I have no doubt that it is." Nogura suddenly almost smiled. "In fact, he spoke of your many qualities quite enthusiastically."

Chapel stared at Nogura and out of the corner of her eye saw one of Spock's eyebrows rise. Nogura must have seen it too, because he flicked an amused glance in the Vulcan's direction. Despite the 'but' she was dreading, and which she knew was coming, she had to fight off a grin at the thought of Sarek being 'enthusiastic' about anything. Judging by Spock's reaction, she wasn't alone in her disbelief.

"I am honoured they received me so well, Admiral," she replied carefully, keeping her voice neutral. "It has been a long time since I have lived on Vulcan."

Nogura nodded. "Yes, I noticed in your personnel files that you spent a few years on Vulcan as a child." Suddenly he was all business again. "On the recommendation of the First Officer of the U.S.S. _Enterprise_, I am afraid I will have to decline your application to become the _Enterprise_'s xenologist."

For a moment she could feel bile rising in the back of her throat. The back of her eyes began to itch with a warm sensation. Dammit! She was _not_ going to cry! Not now! She lifted her head defiantly, swallowing her emotions with the silent promise to indulge later. "May I ask why, sir?"

Nogura looked at Spock gravely, who turned to face her directly, dark eyes meeting her blue ones calmly. "Doctor M'Benga has accepted a research position in the Vulcan Science Academy. I am aware you were offered a chance to join him and that you turned it down to pursue a position on the _Enterprise_."

He paused, studying her. She didn't move, nor did she speak, and her gaze remained locked on him, waiting.

"8.3 days ago it became obvious that the position of Assistant Chief Medical Officer aboard the U.S.S. _Enterprise_ would not be filled by the time we leave space dock on our next mission. Upon reviewing your application 3.2 days ago, it was concluded the logical solution was to combine the two positions if there was an applicant so qualified. The position you applied for no longer exists but the position of Assistant Chief Medical Officer has yet to be claimed."

He fell silent and watched her closely.

Chapel swallowed, then blinked once. Had Spock just asked her to become McCoy's ACMO? She stared at him. His gaze was unwavering and unreadable. She looked at Nogura, who was grinning broadly at her, and suddenly she realised why they had looked so grim when she had entered. Nogura had known this was going to happen and had been trying not to give anything away in his expression.

She turned back to Spock. "So ... ACMO, and presumably in charge of any xenological research required in Life Sciences?"

Spock nodded once. "With the departure of Doctor M'Benga, the crew will be lacking a doctor with extensive research knowledge on different sentient life forms and their anatomies."

"I would in effect be replacing him completely then?"

"Yes."

"Then I accept."

Spock continued to stare at her for a few moments longer. There was still no readable change in his countenance but suddenly she knew she had surprised him in some fashion. She turned back to Nogura. "Well, if it's acceptable to the First Officer, the _Enterprise_ has a new ACMO."

Nogura smiled and looked at Spock, who nodded. "Commander Spock is also willing to refrain from informing the Chief Medical Officer and the Captain, if that is still your desire."

"Yes it is," she glanced at Spock, suddenly suspicious. Was it possible...?

"Very well. Thank you for your time, Doctor. You have 12 days before the _Enterprise_ leaves Earth for her next mission. Use your time wisely."

Chapel rose, acknowledging the dismissal. "Admiral. Commander," she left the room quickly.

Once outside she sagged against the wall and closed her eyes. "YES!" she exclaimed suddenly, as the euphoria finally bubbled up to the surface and she started to laugh. "Oh God, can't you just see the looks on their faces when they find out?" She froze as her earlier suspicion suddenly crystallised into a certainty. "Why that sneaky, little Vulcan ...!"

"If you are referring to the apparent ability of Vulcans to approach Humans without detection, I postulate the theory that Humans are less observant than they are physiologically capable of being," a familiar, deep voice commented next to her.

She opened her eyes and pushed away from the wall to face Spock. "Commander."

"Doctor."

His dark eyes were unreadable as he contemplated her in the silence that followed.

"You did that deliberately, didn't you?" Chapel spoke up first. "Making me think I'd been refused assignment to the _Enterprise_."

"Humans are fascinated with the concept of revealing to their acquaintances news they have previously kept secret. According to the hypothesis that collecting firsthand data might yield comprehensive conclusions, I am endeavouring to observe, and understand, this most illogical phenomenon."

She couldn't stop herself from grinning. "And are the conclusions comprehensive?"

"I will require a repetition of the experiment to corroborate my findings." And to her utter shock, she noticed the faintest hint of a twinkle touch his eyes.

She cleared her throat. "Well, give me 12 days, and I'm sure we can get you the repetition you're after."

"Indeed, Doctor. The first staff briefing is at 0700 hours in 12.7 days. Perhaps then would be a logical time to complete this experiment."

She stared at him for a moment, then smiled. "That'll work for me, Mr. Spock. Is it possible to move my belongings to the _Enterprise_ now?"

"Yes. I have returned to the _Enterprise_ myself. There are still three maintenance crews aboard but the majority of the work is now complete and we will not interfere with their duties."

"Great!" She turned, then stopped and looked at him. "Um... I'll need to get my stuff together," she looked slightly sheepish. "I didn't want to hedge my bets by packing before the meeting."

One eyebrow rose, apparently at the phrase 'hedge my bets'. "Will you require assistance?"

She flushed at the thought of letting anyone else see her rooms - she might be an organised scientist but she could be a rather messy housekeeper at times, especially when running late in the morning. "No I'm fine, sir. But thank you for offering."

He nodded once. "Very well, Doctor. I will meet you aboard the _Enterprise_ when you are ready," and, turning quickly, he strode off down the corridor.

* * *

To say there was silence would be accurate. The gentle hum of the engines and the soft vibration of the floor that had accompanied his meditations for five years were absent. It was a subtle omission that was profoundly noticeable. Spock had spent much of his shore leave alone. When not attending seminars, he had visited the great desert of Australia and walked into its hot wilderness, the fiery red sands and burning heat being the one place on Earth that truly reminded him of Vulcan. There he had sank into meditation, trying to achieve that which had eluded him for so long.

For the most part, he had failed and once more he had reviewed carefully the events that had occurred during their brief contact with Starbase 2 and the _Potemkin_ in case there was anything he had missed. But he had told Captain Kirk the truth. Nothing of note had happened aside from the departure of several crewmembers that had jumped ship with the intention of returning to Earth. One of those individuals had been the former Head Nurse who had an M.D. to complete. He had even considered the possibility the experiments in biolab 2 had caused some kind of reaction but eventually ruled that out. All precautions had been taken and there was nothing involved in those experiments harmful to either Vulcans or Humans.

He had not visited the Vulcan Healers.

He awoke slowly out of his meditation and noted the time he had been under. 2.5 hours exactly, flawlessly successful. He had regained his peace of mind and centre of balance several days ago, the timing of which had been so obvious he was forced to acknowledge, albeit with difficulty, the truth of his distress during the end of the first tour. It was good to be able to centre himself and once more find peace in meditation but he knew the price of his new self-knowledge would be high.

_"Williams to Commander Spock."_

Spock rose swiftly and touched his comm. "Spock here."

_"Sir, there's a Doctor Chapel requesting permission to beam up."_

"Understood, Lieutenant. Prepare to beam her aboard. I will meet her in the transporter room."

It didn't take him long to change from his robes into his uniform and locate Transporter Room 2 but, by the time he arrived, Chapel was on board.

The technician looked at Spock as he arrived. "I beamed her belongings to Cargo Bay 1."

Spock nodded and turned to look at Doctor Chapel. "Assistant Chief Medical Officer reporting for duty, sir," she said promptly.

He observed that she was trying very hard to fight back a grin and chose not to draw attention to her enthusiasm. "Welcome aboard, Doctor. Do you require a tour of the ship?"

She looked around the transporter room. "Yes! If the rest of the ship is anything like this room, then things have changed."

"Indeed." Spock turned towards the doors and she joined him promptly.

"I've got to admit I'm glad they let women wear trousers now if we want," Chapel muttered as they walked through the corridors. "The last uniform was definitely not practical."

She was aware of the glance that swept over her at that comment but the Vulcan's expression was restrained. She suddenly felt defensive, although she wasn't certain why. "Well, you've got to admit it was hardly a logical uniform."

A very tiny twinkle of amusement appeared briefly in his eyes and she quickly averted her eyes forward to hide her surprise. Twice in one day, she mused. It was not the stiff, excessively formal behaviour she had been expecting. "Agreed. However, I find it interesting that not all Starfleet personnel agree with your assessment."

She snorted. "The men, no doubt."

"And some women."

"Really? That surprises me. But then, I'm in the kind of job where that kind of uniform is extremely inconvenient."

Spock didn't answer that, instead leading her through some doors into a wide space. She blinked and looked around in astonishment. "This is the rec room?" she demanded, staring. "It's huge!"

"I believe Starfleet foresees an increasing need for starships to accommodate diplomatic envoys."

Chapel instantly thought back to the Babel conference and chuckled. "That must be the worst thing Captain Kirk could ever be told."

Spock was silent but there was an expression deep within his eyes that suggested he understood why she found that thought amusing. Her eyes narrowed. "Sickbay! Mr. Spock, what did the refit do to the medical facilities?!"

"I suspect that once you enter Sickbay, it will be impossible to convince you to depart. It would be logical to eat here and visit the medical facilities after dinner."

She made a face. "I can catch up on dinner later, Mr. Spock," she turned to leave the rec room and then stopped. "Which way?"

The Vulcan tilted his head slightly and placed his hands behind his back. Chapel suddenly realised he had no intention of telling her. She blinked, surprised. There wasn't anything unusual in his behaviour; she had seen him behave this way with Kirk, McCoy and Uhura; even with Scott, Sulu and Chekov. Between them, however, there had always been a certain tension. Nothing that prevented them from working well together professionally, but enough to ensure they never dealt with each other except as professionals. Not entirely sure how to handle this friendlier Spock, she decided to approach the situation as if she was dealing with McCoy. "You're going to be stubborn about this, aren't you?"

"Stubbornness is a Human characteristic, Doctor. I am merely being logical."

"Isn't this where I say 'in a pig's eye'?" she smiled as his eyebrow rose and moved across to the food slots. "So, what's the dish of the day?"

He joined her at the food slot. "If by that you are asking what the menu is, the choice is restricted until the crew is officially on board. There are a wide variety of soups to choose from, however."

"Hm." She put one hand on her hip and the other to her chin, absently tapping her lips with one slim finger, as she thought. She only became aware of what a sight she must be when she realised Spock was studying her silently, his features patiently expressionless. She cleared her throat. "Vegetable soup will be fine," she said. "And some Tarkelian tea. If they have any."

To her surprise he selected two vegetable soups, although for himself chose only water, and took them both over to a nearby table. Chapel raised both eyebrows and followed him, wryly observing that this politeness had to happen when they were alone. No-one would believe her if she mentioned it.

She slipped into a seat and sipped her tea. Neither of them spoke until their meal was more or less over. "I don't tend to think of you and soup at the same time," she commented eventually. She winced at the bluntness of her opening speech. She had spent the entire meal trying to work out how to approach the subject and, in the end, she had settled for bluntness - get it all in the open, out of the way, while they were still in space dock. Let the new tour begin on a clean slate. Underneath the table, she crossed her fingers. That was the plan, anyway.

He studied her silently. "I do not understand."

"The last time we interacted. Where soup was involved." She watched his expression close off as if a wall had slammed down behind his eyes and, suddenly, she felt as if she had been propelled back to the first mission and the personal tension that had haunted their interactions. She nodded and sat forward slightly. "Mr. Spock. I have some bad memories - well, best call them humiliating memories - of the last tour. It took me a long time to come to terms with those events but I'm glad I did. I will be honest, I expected you to deny my application to rejoin the _Enterprise_."

He contemplated her thoughtfully for a moment. "You have excellent qualifications. You have valuable starship experience and training. You are efficient, organised and would be an asset to any scientific team you worked with. It would have been illogical for me to refuse your request."

She smiled wanly. "I did tell myself that."

He tilted his head slightly, hearing the unfinished nature of her reply. "You believed your concerns were justified during our discussion with Admiral Nogura?"

"Yes."

"I apologise. It was not my intent to cause you distress."

She looked briefly surprised at the apology but before she could say anything he continued, his expression softening once more into what she had always regarded as his 'relaxed mode'. "But you must understand that ascribing emotional intent to a Vulcan is illogical."

"Yes, of course," she bit back a relieved smile. "Forgive my impudence, Commander. I meant no offence."

"There is none taken."

She nodded and took a deep breath. "Anyway. I never had the opportunity before. I want to apologise for causing discomfort and stress during the last tour and hope to put it firmly under the bridge."

"Many situations occurred during our last tour that were ... disquieting," his eyes stared intently into her own. "I do not blame you. It would not be logical for you to apologise for events over which you had no control."

"I know. But I'm Human. Sometimes we need to verbalise something for it to have meaning to us."

"Understood, Doctor."

She glanced around at the rec room. "You know, this place is a lot more comfortable than the last one," she grinned. "I can even see myself doing my homework in here."

"Doing your homework, Doctor?"

"Just a euphemism. I'm working on some translations in my free time. I can just imagine what Bones would call that, but I find it ... fun. And it gives me an insight into the culture concerned, too. Which is never a waste of time."

"Indeed."

She grinned wryly. "Although I may have to abandon my current hobby. Pre-reform Vulcan texts are a nightmare. I can't find a standard code for translating the Sonnets of Saal. I've seen at least three different translations - none agree. And that's just the translations into modern Vulcan."

His eyebrows rose. "You are attempting to translate them into Standard?"

"'Attempting' is optimistic. 'Failing' would be closer. I don't agree with the current translations. I think they're too ... logical," she realised Spock was staring at her and flushed. "That's a horrible thing for me to say, isn't it? But I can't help it - I see pre-Reform texts and I think 'emotional'."

"You are Human. You will interpret them as such," he observed. He regarded her thoughtfully for a moment, then added, "Perhaps I could put the text into its correct cultural perspective for you?"

She looked surprised. "If you think it would help me, I'd appreciate it."

He nodded and refrained from pointing out he would not have offered if he had not thought she would benefit from it. Instead he rose and picked up his plates. "Doctor, I believe it is time to show you to Sickbay and your quarters."

She grinned and rose with him. "A superlative suggestion, Mr. Spock," and she laughed when his eyebrows rose.

* * *

Kirk slumped in his seat, rubbing his head and feeling a tooth-jarring ache developing behind his eyes. The last of the crews and equipment were aboard, the maintenance teams had departed and it was unsociably early. Today was the big day. Today the next five year mission of the U.S.S. _Enterprise_ officially began. It was 06:53, he was sat in the briefing room, and it was already a day he was regretting climbing out of bed for.

Chekov and Sulu were sitting in their seats looking quietly amused; Uhura was yawning sleepily and nursing a coffee while she juggled datapads; Spock had yet to arrive. The causes of his headache, however, were both sat opposite him. McCoy was slumped in his seat looking tired and irritable, his vivid blue eyes shooting electricity if anyone so much as addressed him. No-one dared mention Starfleet bureaucracy in his hearing currently. Scott sat next to him, back straight, hands gripping a technical manual tightly, face almost as red as his shirt. If McCoy was furious with his inability to find an ACMO, then the very suggestion that Starfleet had improved Engineering made Scott explosive.

Kirk groaned. Deciding Uhura had a good plan, he hauled himself out of his seat to grab himself a coffee.

"Aye, and it'll take a fair month to be fixing the engines with this much wrong!" Scott was rounding off to anyone who would listen, his accent thick with his distress. "Captain, they should have let me do this. Would have been better done!"

The doors opened to admit Spock. He strode directly to his seat, surrounded by an aura of placid, unruffled calm. There was no evidence of the anti-social super-Vulcan that had so frustrated them at the end of the last mission. Only when he sat down, did he notice how everyone had swung around to stare at him. One eyebrow rose sharply at this unexpected attention.

"Well, well, Starfleet's most mysterious disappearing act returns," McCoy drawled. "How was your shore leave, Spock?"

"Most illuminating, Doctor," Spock was noncommittal. He still wasn't certain how to handle his new self-awareness and therefore did not want to be interrogated too closely about the past few months.

Steel-blue eyes locked on him, studying him with laser-sharp precision as if trying to strip him bare of his Vulcan shields and see the truth beneath. Spock met that gaze calmly, steadily and resisted an illogical urge to squirm like a naughty schoolboy. The doctor grunted and turned to Kirk.

Kirk was also studying Spock appraisingly. "Good to have you back on board, Spock. It's a shame you couldn't join us for shore leave." He brought his coffee over to his seat and sat down. "I see our new Assistant Chief Medical Officer is late," he frowned.

McCoy twitched. "If it's not bad enough that the chief surgeon on a starship isn't allowed to choose his own damn staff, Starfleet has to choose one that can't even get out of bed in the morning. I'll bet his hands shake in operations and he can't tell his ass ... "

Kirk cleared his throat and McCoy trailed to a rambling halt, glaring at Spock who was watching him, one eyebrow slightly raised. "And you, Mr. I'm The Logical Choice To Decide Who The ACMO Will Be Despite Not Being A Doctor!" he stabbed a finger at the Vulcan whose eyebrow slowly started rising higher.

"Bones!" Kirk's head sank into his hands.

"Well, dammit Jim. I don't care if the First Officer deals with crew listings and assignments. He should have consulted with me on my own god damn staff!"

"What's the matter, Doctor McCoy? Afraid Commander Spock made an illogical decision?"

The rich alto from the doorway froze everyone. Even Spock, who knew she had entered the room, was momentarily stilled by the effect her voice had on them all. Fortunately, he was no longer the centre of attention as everyone had turned to stare at Doctor Chapel. "Chris?" Uhura said incredulously. Chapel glanced at her with a grin. "Congratulations, Commander," she responded in a deliberately off-hand manner. Uhura just stared at her.

"What in blue blazes are you doing on board, girl!" McCoy fairly shouted. "I thought you'd be half way to Vulcan by now!"

Her blue eyes took on a wide, innocent stare then she turned an imperial gaze on Kirk. "Assistant Chief Medical Officer reporting for duty, Captain. My apologies for not announcing myself sooner but I didn't want to interrupt my superior officer's assessment of my abilities."

Kirk's eyes widened slightly as he stared at her, too speechless to say anything.

She turned to face her boss and mentor, somehow managing not to crack even the faintest smile. "'My hands shake during operations and I can't find my ass ...'? Exactly what were you going to say next, Doct ... ?" she trailed off, the breath knocked out of her body as McCoy launched himself out of his seat and swept her up in a huge bear hug. As if his action was the release for everyone else, Chapel suddenly found herself surrounded, being hugged, thumped on the back and having her hand pumped until she thought her arm would drop off.

"Breathing room, people! Your friendly, neighbourhood ACMO needs oxygen!" she gasped eventually, unable to stop herself from grinning and frantically trying to wipe her eyes before anyone noticed the tears. McCoy cleared his throat suddenly, his own eyes looking suspiciously glassy. "What are you doing as my ACMO and why the devil didn't you tell me!" he demanded hoarsely.

"Well, I quite liked your original offer, and asked Starfleet to keep it quiet so I could surprise you," her tone was amused. "But Spock convinced me it would be more useful if I signed on as your ACMO instead. So here I am."

"_Spock_ convinced you?" McCoy looked around for Spock. The Vulcan was the only one still sitting down. His fingers were steepled in front of his face and he was watching them all expressionlessly.

Chapel moved to sit down, glancing at Spock whose dark eyes had silently followed her across the room. "Experiment successfully concluded, Mr. Spock?"

"Indeed. The results are most satisfactory," the Vulcan mask dropped enough for them all to see his eyes twinkle.

Chapel grinned and looked at McCoy. Then she laughed. "Bones, you look a picture!"

McCoy glared from Chapel to Spock and back. Eventually his attention settled on Spock. "You did this deliberately!"

"It would be more accurate to say it was Doctor Chapel's idea. Because she understands better than I the illogical nature of Human behaviour, I saw no logical reason to dissuade her of her actions once I ascertained there was no danger to the ship or crew."

McCoy spluttered for a moment. "Did you just say you had fun at my expense?" he demanded incredulously.

"No, Doctor," Spock replied patiently, affecting his most haughty Vulcan demeanour. "If you believe Vulcans engage in 'fun' you have misunderstood my statement."

"I don't believe it!" McCoy muttered. "Damn green-blooded, walking computer goes all Human on us and then tries to pretend like it never happened!"

Spock straightened but before he could voice a rebuttal, Kirk finally found his voice and jumped in. "Gentlemen, please. We have a job to do," he moved back over to retake his seat and the others followed suit. But he was still smiling. Maybe today would turn out alright after all.

* * *

The stars stretched out across an endless midnight sea; the velvet black and silver curtain that draped the ship interspersed occasionally by a flash of orange or red, a deep rich blue or electric flash, and a rare flick of the tail from comets that seemed frozen in time. There was a sense of timelessness here, a sense that beginnings and endings did not matter, that all that existed and had ever existed was here, now, a memory preserved in the deepest silence of space.

Chapel snuggled into her favourite chair in front of the huge viewer. She was dressed in her most comfortable clothes, ones reserved solely for lounging around in. In her hand was a steaming mug of coffee; on the table in front of her, one bowl of fruit and one bowl of chocolate; and datapads surrounded her. She wasn't the only person in the rec room but most people here were quiet. Mellow strains of music drifted through the room as a group of ensigns, who had quickly formed a band, played soothing music that had been collected from a remarkable number of worlds and cultures. Conversation swirled lazily on the edge of hearing and Chapel was reminded of the quiet hush of activity on the edge of consciousness, as one drifted off to sleep in the warm sunshine a stone's throw from gently lapping water.

The doctor popped a piece of fruit into her mouth. It reminded her of an orange, although the natives of the planet it was endemic to would never have any words in their language for oranges. As she chewed, she stretched out one slim leg, wriggling her shoeless toes, grinning at the sensation of decadence she was feeling. The second mission was getting off to a slow start. They had been ordered to head out to check an unexplored system beyond the edges of the Vulcan frontiers. It was going to take them many weeks to make it, even at higher warp. Once out there, they would once more be in into the unknown, exploring new worlds and new civilisations and, yes, probably getting into all sorts of mischief knowing the crew of this ship as she did.

This time, she popped a piece of chocolate into her mouth and chewed slowly, closing her eyes in pleasure. _There ought to be a law making it illegal for Federation worlds to ever run out of chocolate,_ she thought to herself, remembering the months of living on Vulcan, the deprivation she had felt from missing some of her favourite foods. Of course, all her favourite foods were far from nutritionally necessary and, as such, Vulcans didn't have time for them. If it hadn't been for Lady Amanda and her network of contacts, who had specialised for years in getting hold of secret pleasures Humans loved and Vulcans found illogical, she might have gone stark raving mad.

While on Vulcan, Chapel had come into contact with Amanda initially through her husband, who spent a lot of time lecturing in the Science Academy. Amanda had visited the Institute often to help the non-Vulcans come to grips with the Vulcan language and customs. During those visits, Chapel had found it a welcome relief to be able to relax and speak freely with another Human, another woman, without the pressure of Vulcan decorum heaped on her shoulders. She'd had a feeling that very reason was why Amanda enjoyed volunteering there so much. It gave her a chance to relax as well.

She wriggled her toes again and snuggled further into the chair. The first few days had been eventful with everyone being brought up to speed on what was required of them; becoming familiar with the ship, their commanding officers, and their department structures. The ship had encountered no other vessels but the crew was too busy settling into a routine to become bored.

At the end of the week, the rec room had hosted a huge party for everyone to mingle with other departments and extend their contact with the rest of the crew. The comm had been hijacked by a carefully chosen music selection and, with one notable exception, the commanding officers and department heads had all worn name tags. Spock had pointed out that as the only Vulcan on board, he could not possibly be mistaken as anyone other than who he was, and that wearing a name tag was therefore superfluous. He had spent most of the party standing stiffly alongside the smiling Captain Kirk, his most forbidding Vulcan mask firmly in place. Those from the first mission regaled the new recruits with stories about the command crew; some accurate, some exaggerated and some designed to tease. Many of the stories surrounded the relationship of the Big Three, as they were nicknamed, and most of the new recruits were already terrified of the alien First Officer.

The party had also turned into something of a celebration after Sulu got his hands on the comm to announce the fact the Communications Officer had gained the rank of Lieutenant Commander, and that Doctor Chapel and Mr. Chekov had both gained Lieutenant rank as well as new positions of ACMO and Security Officer. That had set the tone for three more rank gain announcements, several surprise birthday calls, and even a wedding anniversary for two bashful ensigns assigned to Security and Engineering. To the cheers of his department, Scott had yelled out that Engineering would hold a private party for them, which had prompted Chekov to retort that Scotsmen didn't know how to party, and he'd have Security show them how to really let their hair down, Russian style. As a result, there was now some good-natured rivalry developing between Security and Engineering.

During the two weeks prior to the _Enterprise_'s departure, Chapel and Spock had fallen into an easy routine of meeting for dinner in the rec room, which usually resulted in debates regarding recent scientific theories or the translations of Saal's sonnets. She couldn't remember how this had started, or who had first suggested the idea, and she was surprised by how comfortable the situation now felt considering their awkwardness during the first mission. Neither of them had suggested ending the routine when the _Enterprise_ left Earth. As a result, their behaviour had initially been the talk of the old crew, who had expected many things from this new mission but not that the First Officer and former Head Nurse had anything remotely in common.

"Well look at you, lounging around like a cat with the cream!"

Chapel looked up sharply as the sunny voice pierced her thoughts and grinned as Uhura sank into a seat near her. "Hi, Nyota. Shift ended?"

"Yeah, not before time too," Uhura stretched out and stole some chocolate with a questioning look that made Chapel laugh. "So, Doc, what were you thinking so hard about when I turned up?" She leaned forward, grinning like a cat. "Penny for your thoughts, or are they dirty coins?"

"Nyota Uhura! I'll have you know my thoughts are completely pure!"

"Pure as the driven snow, I'll bet!" Uhura laughed as Sulu and Chekov joined them with drinks for four people. Chapel put her coffee down and eyed the fourth drink. "Expecting someone else?"

"Yeah, Scotty'll be along in the minute, once he's finished arguing with Spock about the engines," Sulu chuckled.

"Now, Hikaru," Chekov reproved. "You know what Commander Spock said. Vulcans--"

" --do not argue, they debate," chorused the other three immediately.

Chapel laughed and waved as McCoy and Kirk walked in. The doctor stalked over to them and threw himself into a seat, glaring at his ACMO. "What?!" she demanded when he continued to glare in silence. Kirk was trying to hide a grin as he purloined the chess set and brought it over.

"You, missy, have been in my office again!"

"Really, Bones, you need to get out more. What would I possibly want with your office?"

He glared at her. "Don't give me that Little Miss Innocent look either, young lady! I can't find a single goddamn report. I _know _you've been tidying my room again. If you think being my ACMO means you can reorganise my Sickbay whenever you feel like it, then you obviously don't have enough work to do!"

She pulled the most tragic expression she could manage while grinning. "Why, Doctor! You'll work me to the bone. Captain Kirk, are you going to let your senior surgeon abuse his staff in such a callous fashion?!"

Kirk laughed as he finished setting up the chess pieces. "Oh no. If you really need a mediator, I'm sure the Science Officer will be delighted to lecture Medical on the pros and cons of good administrative practice," he sat back with a grin and looked at them.

She grinned. "Old times sake, Bones. I swear you could lose a cat in your office and not know where it's gone."

McCoy scowled. "I always know exactly where my things are. It's only when housekeeping turns up that everything gets lost," he glared at her again.

Chapel chewed another piece of chocolate and eyed the chessboard. "Are you admiring the craftsmanship of the pieces, Captain, or are you going to offer anyone a game?" her blue eyes twinkled slyly.

"Well, I'm waiting for Spock but I think he and Scotty find the engines more enjoyable than spending time with their captain," Kirk put on his best wounded expression. "Do you play?"

"Sometimes. I'm not very good though."

Kirk chuckled. "Choose a colour. Let's see what you've got."

She studied the board thoughtfully. "Oh, why not? Let's live dangerously. I'll go white."

Kirk chuckled again and twisted the board around. Chapel sat up and put her pads to one side, concentrating on the board. She wasn't really being modest about her skills. She could play chess, she was even decent at it but, against dedicated and talented players, she wasn't really much competition. Everyone settled in to watch the game; she could hear them laying wagers on the winner even as she made the first move.

* * *

The doctor was only vaguely aware of Scott joining them, she was concentrating too hard on the game. She was three moves ahead, she thought, but wasn't certain as Kirk had already made two unexpected moves that had thrown her slightly. However, she regrouped her knights and bishops and resolved to make worthwhile sacrifices of the vulnerable pawns she left behind. Kirk grinned suddenly and she had the suspicion that was the move he wanted her to make. Chapel scanned the board frantically to see what he was up to, and saw it. It had been so obvious. How on earth had she missed it?

"Check and mate," Kirk moved his bishop and grinned at her.

She looked up sheepishly and was suddenly aware of Spock standing quietly next to her chair, studying the chess board, one eyebrow raised. "Mate in 12 moves. Now I feel like a dunce."

"Another game, Chris?"

"Haven't you embarrassed me enough for one evening?" she laughed. "Play Spock. I'll watch the experts in action."

Kirk glanced challengingly at Spock, whose eyebrow climbed higher. Chapel hauled her chair across towards Uhura, giving him room to slide a seat in between her and Sulu then snuggled back into its welcoming depths. For a moment she paused, suddenly realising that lounging in her seat in this manner placed her incredibly close to Spock. The Vulcan, however, seemed to be absorbed in the chessboard so she discarded the concern. If he wasn't disturbed by the proximity, she wouldn't be either. She grabbed her coffee and balanced the bowl of chocolate between herself and Uhura. "Anyone want some fruit or chocolate? Plenty to spare," then couldn't resist adding "No chocolate for you, Spock. It's illogical to partake of such a nutritionally poor repast."

He looked up sharply and stared at her for a moment. "If you know this, why do you persist in consuming it?"

Her grin widened. "Because it enhances my emotional experience." As if to prove her point, she popped a piece into her mouth and closed her eyes, sliding further down into her seat with a moan of pleasure. "Better than sex," she mumbled.

Laughter erupted around her, causing her to open her eyes. She glanced sidelong at Spock, who was studying the chessboard with stoic Vulcan intensity. "Sorry, Spock," she said, chuckling herself. "I'm just teasing you."

"Indeed, Doctor. It would appear you have spent too many hours with Doctor McCoy. You are developing his more irrational idiosyncrasies."

She laughed. "Hey, Doc, I take after you!"

McCoy grinned. "I always knew you were a smart girl."

Spock resisted the urge to sigh. Her comment had disturbed him enough for his control to slip very slightly, and his Human companions had detected it. From years of living amongst Humans, he had become used to many different styles of humour, and how frequently Humans joked about subjects Vulcans would never discuss so frivolously. Eventually, he had learned how to adapt, anticipate and even retaliate to such comments. He had never, however, envisaged a time when he would be engaged in such banter with Doctor Chapel and this unexpected situation had unsettled him.

As she slid down in her seat, he found their proximity briefly distracting. For a moment, he was reminded of the unease that had defined their dealings with each other on the first mission, which had remained no matter how they had behaved towards each other. It should have departed when she left the ship but instead it had only intensified.

Pursing his lips, he focused his attention on the chess game playing out in front of him. During the first tour, he had not understood the sensation. He did now, he regularly addressed it in his meditations. He accepted it and therefore controlled it. Doctor Chapel's sense of humour was unexpected but it would not cause concern. He would adapt. He always did.


	3. Red Tape and Roses

**Author's Note:  
04/02/07:** This chapter has been updated and revamped.

* * *

**Chapter 2: _Red Tape and Roses_**

Kirk slouched in the command chair, eyes lidded and unfocused. The bridge was a distant whisper of sound, the crew chatting amiably as they went about their tasks while the Captain stole a few minutes for himself. Uhura tapped one slim finger on her comm panel thoughtfully, contemplating her station and observing with bored amusement the difference in attitude between the untried crewmembers and those who had already toured with the _Enterprise_.

Unused to Kirk's idiosyncrasies, those who had newly signed up occasionally cast uncertain glances in his direction and she could almost see their disappointment and confusion. James T. Kirk was the most famous Captain in the Fleet; his missions and his exploits were legendary. Some of his escapades were already required reading at the Academy and some of the newcomers had signed up expecting great things; exciting missions, untold dangers and intergalactic mysteries. The quiet monotony of the working week - the paperwork, the hours of mundane tasks - was enough of a letdown but nothing had prepared them for the reality of the very Human Captain Kirk and his very Human indulgences.

The more experienced staff, on the other hand, had come to know and respect their Captain highly and knew that, despite appearances, he was ready for action and alert to the slightest changes around him. That he was relaxed meant everything was as it should be and they could relax as well. They were under no illusion that the minute something changed on the Bridge, Kirk would probably notice it before they did.

Occasionally, those same puzzled glances would turn towards the First Officer, as if waiting for him to address the Captain in some manner, or at least react to the commanding officer's apparent lack of attention. It was with growing unease that they noticed the Vulcan seemed as oblivious to his environment as the Captain. Absorbed in his station, Spock appeared to be in a world of his own; a world of scientific data, departmental organisation and crew reports that were apparently more important to him than maintaining discipline on the bridge.

Uhura had to bite back her grin at their naiveté. It would take time, perhaps a crisis, for the new crew to understand how command operated on this particular starship, to understand that they were led by officers so attuned to each other they could address each others needs almost instinctively.

She suddenly found a pair of dark brown eyes staring into her own. Startled for a moment, she let a sultry grin spread over her face, not looking away, watching as one slim eyebrow rose sharply. The Vulcan looked pointedly at her tapping finger, then back at her. Uhura couldn't help it and began to laugh.

"Something amusing, Commander?" Kirk swivelled around in his chair.

Even now, weeks after having officially been recognised by Starfleet as a Lieutenant Commander, Uhura was still enjoying the sound of her new rank rolling off the tongues of others. She stifled her laugh and continued grinning. "Just realising how much I missed being out here while on shore leave, Captain," her voice was innocent, her eyes daring Spock to object to her Human emotionalism.

Kirk pursed his lips and glanced at Spock, unable to keep the amusement off his face. "What do you say, Mr. Spock. Did you miss the stars while you were on Earth?"

The Vulcan turned in his seat to observe the Captain with an air of superiority. "It is illogical to miss that which was never owned, Jim."

Kirk leaned forward in his seat, not bothering to hide his delight when a hint of wariness appeared in Spock's eyes at the movement. "But you were not satisfied with how you spent your time while grounded, correct?"

"I utilised my time efficiently, Captain," he responded calmly, refusing to be baited.

"Ah, but, Spock, were you _satisfied_?"

"Captain, I believe you are attempting to provoke an emotional response," was the airy response.

Kirk grinned. "Am I succeeding?"

"No, sir," Spock turned back to his station but not before Kirk saw the humour flare in the Vulcan's eyes. Uhura winked at him, then turned sharply back to her console as lights flashed. "Incoming message, Captain," she commented formally as she readjusted her earpiece and her fingers flew to clear up static. Her eyebrows rose. "It's from Captain Codoc of the U.S.S. _Bainbridge_."

Kirk stared at her as Spock swivelled around to contemplate them both, eyebrows raised. He understood their surprise, felt it himself. "On screen, Commander."

Uhura quickly transferred the message to the screen and turned to look at the materialising figure. Kirk found himself looking into a slim face that was beginning to sag with age. Brown hair, shot through with silver, gave his features a dry, grey cast and a pair of ice-grey eyes fixed firmly on Kirk's bright blue ones.

The Captain of the U.S.S. _Enterprise_ rose. "Yann, it's good to see you again."

The Captain of the U.S.S. _Bainbridge_ nodded shortly. "I'll bet you're as surprised to see me as I am to be here, Jim," he grinned wryly, his accent only lightly hinting at his heritage. The burr that added culture to his words sounded French but Kirk's jaw still ached in cold weather, a permanent reminder never to call the feisty Breton a Frenchman.

"I heard you were shipped out to deal with some presents the Klingons were trying to send to Space Station K-7. Isn't this a little out of your way?"

Codoc laughed. "They're blaming the entire Federation for that trick your Chief Engineer pulled, Jim. Maybe it wasn't so wise to send them a transporter-load of tribbles after all."

Kirk smiled. "I'll have to have a word with Mr. Scott and pass on your concerns. Is it true that the Klingon Empire has declared war on the creatures?" Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a look of horror and dismay pass over Uhura's features and it occurred to him she was the reason they had suffered a tribble infestation on board in the first place.

Codoc shook his head and gestured. "_Bo! _I do not understand it. I have not seen any evidence of it myself, but, yes, I think the rumours are true," he leaned forward in his seat suddenly. "But this time, Jim, Klingons aren't the ones you need to worry about."

Kirk frowned at the speed in which Codoc had dropped from playful to serious and he braced himself. "What's the problem?"

"Vulcans." Codoc's tone said it all.

For a moment Kirk was speechless. Whatever he had been expecting as worse than Klingons, it certainly wasn't Vulcans. Around him, the Bridge had fallen silent. "Care to elaborate, Yann?" he asked tightly.

Codoc sighed in frustration and gestured to someone who was out of view. "Data transfer requested by the _Bainbridge_, Captain," Uhura murmured quietly.

"I'm having all the information the _Long Beach_ has sent us regarding their survey mission transmitted to you now. It was meant for you, we're just the courier." Codoc clarified.

Kirk nodded to Uhura, who accepted the transmission, then he turned back to Codoc with a frown. "We're replacing the _Long Beach_ on that survey mission, why didn't they wait until we met them?"

"They're stuck in orbit around Vulcan. Bureaucracy. Or something. The Vulcan science team assigned to them to help them monitor the Sethlans System was recalled. They don't have a clue what's going on, except that the Vulcans are gunning for something. Or someone. You know Vulcans - won't admit there's rain until everyone's drowning. All we can tell is that it's got something to do with the survey mission."

Kirk looked uneasy. "That doesn't make any sense, Yann. This survey mission isn't a secret. The _Long Beach_ has been out there for months. It's completely routine."

"Well, it stopped being routine three months ago. That's all I can tell you. Anyway, your orders are to go directly to Vulcan. You'll meet with the _Long Beach_ there, and probably with the Vulcan High Council as well."

Kirk almost stopped breathing. This wasn't making any sense. He could feel a cold, hard knot of tension building behind his eye and a slow anger beginning to simmer in his gut. With considerable effort, he kept his voice neutral. "Why?"

Codoc shrugged helplessly. "That's all the information we have, Jim. I'm sorry."

Kirk sighed. "Any other surprises for us?"

Codoc's lips twisted wryly. "From me, no. Watch you back when you reach Vulcan though. They seem to be able to justify absolutely everything through logic when they put their minds to it and that makes them dangerous. I don't know what they're up to but it's got something to do with your ship. Don't let them back you into a corner. From what I've been able to gather, you've had some tense history with Vulcan, they might hold a grudge."

"Holding a grudge would be illogical," Kirk said dryly.

"They're Vulcans, Jim. They could find a logical reason to send someone's sun nova if they absolutely wanted to. If the rumours are true and you have annoyed them, then you need to watch yourself."

Kirk thought back to his past interactions with Vulcan. Vulcan tradition should have killed him but he was alive because he and another Human had cheated Vulcan law. He didn't know if that made him and McCoy criminals or just notorious. _But we saved the Vulcan Ambassador's life later on. What more do they want from us?_ He sighed. Codoc was almost certainly right. Vulcan probably did consider them troublemakers.

Codoc looked at him sympathetically. "_Kenavo, _Jim. I will wish you luck."

Kirk sighed again. "Thanks, Yann. Kirk out."

* * *

The Bridge was absolutely silent as communications with the _Bainbridge_ ended. Kirk turned back to Uhura. "All data has arrived and is being patched through to Mr. Spock's station," was her prompt response.

"Thank you, Commander," he said quietly. He turned to the First Officer. "Thoughts, Mr. Spock?"

Kirk could almost hear everyone hold their breath as Spock set his sensors to automatically scan the information Uhura had given him and turned to face the Captain. The Vulcan's face was completely expressionless, Kirk couldn't read any emotion at all. "Insufficient data at this time, Captain," he replied woodenly.

Kirk's eyes narrowed. "Spock, I want to know what's going on. Why would the Vulcan High Council get involved with the survey of the Sethlans System. Weren't they the ones who told Starfleet it existed and invited us to investigate in the first place?"

"I know of no logical reason for the Vulcan High Council to involve themselves in a planetary survey mission. The Sethlans System is not within Vulcan territory nor is it close. The _Long Beach_ was invited to help a team from the Vulcan Science Academy research an HII region of extremely dense gas and dust. It was only through direct study of this region that the Sethlans System was discovered lying beyond it. In acknowledgement of the role the U.S.S. _Long Beach_ had in the discovery of this system, Starfleet was offered control over the mapping of the new sector if they agreed to allow the Vulcan Science Academy to post research teams on board."

"And that is the agreement we have been asked to uphold in replacing the _Long Beach_," Kirk finished and nodded. "But what happened three months ago for the High Council to stick an oar in?"

Spock was silent, although one eyebrow rose at the imagery Kirk had chosen to use. "Spock!" Kirk said impatiently. "You must have heard something?"

"Jim, recently I have had no more contact with Vulcan than you," the First Officer's voice was quiet.

Kirk clenched his fists in frustration and had to grind his teeth together to avoid saying something he might later regret. It wasn't Spock's fault, Kirk knew. It wasn't as if the _Enterprise_ had been anywhere near this sector for most of their last tour and Spock had spent the shakedown time on Earth just as everyone else had. Given that, and the awkward relationship he had with his own family, Spock probably _was_ as out of the loop as he was implying. Kirk was confident Spock would never lie. He was a Vulcan, after all.

"Captain," Uhura's voice captured both Kirk and Spock's attention simultaneously. She smiled ruefully at them. "I know it was logical to ask the resident Vulcan first but we do have a member of the crew who has been on Vulcan within the last three months," she studied him intently, waiting.

Kirk blinked. _Now why didn't I remember that? _He moved over towards his chair and hit the comm switch. A moment later, his voice rang out to all parts of the ship. "Officers meeting. Briefing Room 2 in 15 minutes. Doctor Chapel, please attend."

* * *

When the call for the meeting was announced across the ship, McCoy, Chapel and Scott were involved in their own crisis. A vicious accident in Biolab 1 had resulted in two crewmen being rushed into surgery after suffering severe plasma burns, three more being treated for acute respiratory distress and another suffering anaphylaxis. Scott was just walking into Sickbay when he heard Kirk's voice and wearily palmed the comm by the door, leaning against the wall. "Scott to Captain Kirk."

_"Kirk here."_

"Sir, I'm going to be a wee bit late. Same's for Doctors' McCoy and Chapel."

_"Everything alright, Mr. Scott?"_ Kirk's disembodied voice sounded concerned.

"Accident in Biolab 1, sir. We're decontaminating now," he glanced around as McCoy walked over to him. The surgeon looked as tired as Scott felt.

McCoy nodded to Scott and turned to the comm. "McCoy here. Jim, we're almost done. Give us twenty minutes."

_"Alright, Bones. Get here when you can. Kirk out."_

McCoy rubbed his eyes and turned to peer closely at Scott. "Well, Mr. Scott," he said acerbically. "You said you'd have answers for me."

Scott scowled. "Aye, that I did. My lads are going through the records of use for the room while we wait on the seals to do their job."

McCoy sighed. When Scott's accent got that thick, things were never good. "Well, the good news is the plasma burns won't be fatal. Chris is closing on Thalit now. I've already got Summers into Recovery," he began moving off to his office, feeling the need for something to cleanse him of the smell of charred flesh that lingered in the back of his throat. "Maberley, Prescott and Gabrosky haven't suffered lethal exposure but only time will tell if they have permanent lung damage," he rummaged around for his stash of whisky then grunted, unable to locate it.

"Wylp?" Scott asked warily.

McCoy flung up his hands. "If we can find out what's triggered his anaphylaxis, we'll save him. Nurse Wahler is going through the database right now to see what we've got on Andorian allergies ..." he trailed off and looked away for a moment, then looked hard at Scott. "We need to know what happened in there, Mr. Scott," he said flatly.

The Chief Engineer stared at him in silence for a moment then nodded grimly. He understood the CMO's tone, the hidden meaning. If they didn't find out what had caused the accident, Ensign Wylp would become the first statistic of the new tour.

And, less than two weeks into the mission, statistics didn't bear thinking about.

* * *

By the time Scott made it to the Briefing Room, he was more than the five minutes late McCoy had suggested and the two doctors hadn't arrived themselves.

"What happened, Scotty?" Kirk asked him immediately.

"We're not too sure yet, sir. My lads were rerouting power through the terminals in Biolab 1 when there was a force field failure. Plasma vented in the faces of Summers and Thalit. Decontamination cycle still has an hour to run before we can get in and investigate."

"How bad were the injuries?"

"Ensign Wylp may not make it, sir."

Kirk sighed and sat back. Losing crewmembers was never easy, but to accidents it was even harder to accept. _Not this early in the tour... _He glanced at Spock who was suddenly busy at the computer terminal. "Spock?"

"Fascinating. The only Biolab experiments requiring force field technology at this time are basic culture growths. The force fields are being utilised to protect the cultures from contamination only."

Kirk stared at him. "You're saying there's no need to decontaminate?"

"Mr. Spock. Three of my lads had asthma attacks from whatever was behind that force field and they were not even close to it!"

"I do not dispute the medical evidence, Mr. Scott. I am merely observing that there was nothing dangerous authorised for containment in Biolab 1."

Kirk's eyes narrowed. "Gentlemen, I don't like the implications of what you're suggesting. Mr. Chekov, I want a thorough investigation of the activities in Biolab 1 since this mission began. Mr. Scott, I want to know how that force field failed. Mr. Spock, I want to find out exactly what was in those cultures that were destroyed."

The conversation stopped as McCoy and Chapel walked in and found themselves somewhere to sit. McCoy looked tired and worn, his blue eyes dull and red-rimmed, face grey; the lines a little deeper accentuating his age. Kirk frowned at the sight of him. It wasn't the first time he'd seen the doctor in such a state and he was certain it wasn't going to be the last. Sometimes he wondered if there was such a thing as caring too much. Then he bit back a smile. McCoy accused him of that crime all the time.

By contrast, Chapel almost seemed to float to her chair. It was clear she was just as tired as McCoy but the effect on her appearance couldn't have been more different. Her skin had always been a smooth cream but now that she was pale with fatigue, it was almost alabaster. The last evidence of a harried shift could be seen in the form of a faint flush in her cheeks that produced an almost translucent quality. Her blonde hair was dishevelled and while she had managed to rearrange the unruly mass into a regulation style, it now floated around her head and shoulders like a halo. He had never seen her wear her hair like that before. She looked ethereal.

Somewhere deep inside him, Kirk the captain went on strike as Kirk the man stirred protectively in response to the sight of a distressed - and damn good looking - woman. _Get a grip,_ he told himself sternly. He shifted uneasily and watched Scott rise quickly to pull out a chair for her, noticing every man in the room had given her a second glance. For a moment, he felt a wry relief in not being the only one affected by her unconscious sense of vulnerability, then his analytical self kicked in and he sat up a little straighter in his chair in surprise. _Every man in the room?_ His eyes surreptitiously flickered towards Spock who was intently watching Scott's solicitude and the answering smile of gratitude that lit Chapel's face. Despite an odd sense of unease that the dark stare generated, Kirk couldn't place where or when he had seen that expression in the Vulcan's eyes before.

He cleared his throat, causing all eyes to turn to him immediately. "You look like death warmed up, Bones," Kirk said dryly.

McCoy grunted. "You try taking on two surgeries, three respiratory arrests and one case of anaphylactic shock at the same time, then see how beautiful you look." He glared at Chapel. "Someone hid my miracle cure."

Chapel sighed, then grinned wryly. "It's in the 'medicine' cabinet, Bones. Where else would I put it?"

"Bones, how are they?"

McCoy nodded. "They'll be fine. Thanks to Chris. The normal treatments for anaphylaxis weren't working on Wylp. Damn Andorian physiology is almost as screwed up as someone else's I could name!" he glared at Spock, who arched an eyebrow. "Anyway, Wylp had his own personal angel on his side," he grinned at Chapel. "Chris managed to piece together an alternative treatment that would work on Andorian physiology."

Chapel chuckled. "Thank the Vulcans, Bones. They were obsessed with some kind of illegal trade in depressants that had been going on near the Coridan system. Apparently, the drugs were causing depressant effects in some species and were acting as stimulants in others. One of them did a paper on it that I managed to get my hands on before I left for Earth," she grinned playfully at Spock. "Who would have thought the excessively emotional Andorians and the ultra-emotionless Vulcans would have a common physiology?"

Spock's second eyebrow joined his first. "Fascinating!" he murmured.

Reminded of why they were gathered by the reference to Vulcan, Kirk straightened. "So no-one's dying on us yet, Bones?"

McCoy grunted. "We've got Wylp strapped down in restraints and Security watching him. The treatment's effective, but Andorians are so violent normally it was like pumping steroids into him. Hopefully, he'll pull through. There's still a full ship of people, Jim. You aren't getting rid of us that easily."

"Any idea what substance caused the problem?"

"Could be anything. We've got Wylp's blood and tissue under analysis. And we've taken bronchial tissue samples from all of them. It's up to Lab now."

"Alright, co-ordinate with Science on finding answers to what happened. Right now, however, I need to deal with another problem." Kirk's eyes turned to Chapel and he leaned forward slightly. "What's the political climate on Vulcan like right now? Did you hear anything during your stay about the _Long Beach_ survey mission?"

Chapel's attention, which had wandered towards the coffee, snapped back to Kirk immediately. "Vulcan?" She sounded incredulous for a moment but recollected her thoughts in the face of his stern, business-like stare. "Uh ... well, I'm not Vulcan, Captain. They're terribly close-mouthed about their world, even to _akansu_ who live with them," she tilted her head slightly, thinking, then continued. "I spent most of the time at the Academy with my nose in books and attending seminars - we think bureaucracy is bad on Earth but we're rank amateurs next to Vulcans. They've turned it into an art form ... no offence, Mr. Spock," she added sheepishly.

The Vulcan didn't reply but he was watching her with an attentive intensity he usually only reserved for studying unexpected scientific anomalies. Chapel continued quickly, feeling a slow blush starting to creep up her neck. "I heard about the _Enterprise_ being assigned to replace the _Long Beach_, of course. There was quite a debate about that in the Academy. I've never seen Vulcans so ... emotional," she ignored Spock's protesting eyebrow, looking intently at Kirk. "I can't explain it, you'd have to have been there. Vulcans ... become disturbingly single-minded when they're stressed, almost as though they're narrowing the focus of their entire world down to a single aspect of their existence."

"The 'Double-Vulcan' routine," murmured McCoy with a smug look in Spock's direction. Spock's eyebrow immediately returned back to its natural position and the pair exchanged a stubborn stare.

Chapel ignored McCoy as well. "Probably the problem they're confronted by, I'm not entirely sure. Anyway, there was a _lot_ of that going on at the Academy when they heard the _Enterprise_ was going to be replacing the _Long Beach_." She coughed, suddenly slightly uncomfortable. "I couldn't work it out and, of course, you just can't walk up to a Vulcan and ask these things. It took me long enough to work out this much, so I asked Lady Amanda what was going on. Since she herself spends so much time working at the Academy, I thought she might know something. She said there was some kind of argument between the High Council and the Science Academy over the involvement of the _Enterprise_ but even she didn't know much more than that. Her husband wasn't talking about it. Humans just aren't allowed to get involved, not even Humans who are married to Vulcans." She gave Kirk an intent look then glanced at Spock, who had steepled his fingers in front of his face. He seemed lost in thought. "Can I ask what's going on?"

Kirk rubbed his head. "I'm getting a headache," he muttered and quickly explained his conversation with Captain Codoc to the three officers who had not been on the bridge.

McCoy sat bolt upright at that. "Why in tarnation would Vulcan care that we're doing a survey mission?"

"_That_ is the question," Kirk said flatly. He looked at Chapel again. "Does the Academy approve or disapprove of our involvement? What about the High Council? Are you absolutely certain you aren't missing something?"

She mulled over his questions. "Well, I thought the Academy set this mission in motion. I don't think they really cared one way or another who was doing the survey as long as they received quantifiable data. Then a representative of the High Council contacted them and that's when the tension started."

"Who was the representative? T'Pau?"

"No. A man," she considered for a moment. "I think his name's Seran."

Spock's eyes refocused on her face with startling swiftness. "The man in charge of the Cultural Preservation Committee?"

Left mute by the dark shade of the Vulcan's gaze, Chapel merely nodded.

Spock resteepled his fingers and fell silent. Kirk felt a surge of annoyance but it was McCoy who spoke first. "Well, dammit, Spock! If you know something spill it!"

Spock raised an eyebrow. "I do not 'know something', Doctor. Seran is a common name. I was clarifying the identity of the man to whom Doctor Chapel referred."

"What do you know about him, Spock?" Kirk asked.

"He is the pre-eminent scholar on Vulcan history and cultural development. He has extensive archaeological training but the only off-world research he engages in is related to Vulcanoid species. His clan is not the most powerful in the High Council but his words carry weight when he speaks."

"I don't get it, Captain," Scott said, shaking his head. "There's no difference between the _Long Beach_ and us."

Kirk continued watching Spock for a few moments more but the Vulcan remained silent. "Spock, I want the information the _Bainbridge_ transferred from the _Long Beach_ analysed and prepared. By the time we reach Vulcan I want to know which teams will be working on what and why. I want Science to have a complete plan of action for dealing with the survey region. If the system has habitable planets, I want Chris working with you. Is that clear?"

"Understood, Captain."

McCoy grumbled something under his breath. "Is there something you want to add, Bones?" Kirk asked impatiently.

McCoy glared at Spock for a moment. "You treat my girl right when she's with your department, you hear me Spock? I know your lot. They'll work themselves to the bone trying keep up with you."

One eyebrow flew upwards. "Doctor, I assure you I require no more from my staff than regulations specify."

"Maybe you should tell _them_ that," came the crabby reply.

* * *

Stretched out in her favourite chair in the rec room, Chapel stifled a yawn as she read through the reports from the _Long Beach_. There wasn't much relevant to her skills at the moment; the _Long Beach_ hadn't actually managed to begin surveying the system itself, there had been too much information to compile from what had been nicknamed the Apulu Rose Nebula. Chapel wasn't an astrophysicist so didn't really understand the reports well enough to keep up with what was written. She was also far too tired to concentrate, and the music of the Vulcan lyre in the corner of the room kept lulling her to sleep.

She glanced in Spock's direction. It was the first time he had played in the rec room since the tour had begun and the first time she had heard it in almost two and a half years. She had missed it ... she had missed him, although she wasn't about to tell him that. _Once was traumatic enough,_ she thought with a strictly internal sigh. She thought back to that particular episode with a wince. She hadn't even known she was attracted to Spock before the Psi 2000 virus. She had enjoyed working with him; finding his honesty, dedication to duty and quiet strength impossible to ignore but not analysing her feelings too closely. She had still believed Roger Korby was her life and goal, still determined to find and marry him, convinced she'd find him on some out-of-the-way planet waiting for her with open arms, ready to walk down the aisle. It had been so romantic. And so naive.

Then the virus had struck and it was as though someone had thrown icy water down her back. One minute she was dreaming of Roger, the next she was lusting after the First Officer with an intensity of emotion that had terrified her. She had never felt so strongly about Roger. She hadn't been able to eat or sleep and McCoy had caught her countless times daydreaming while she should have been working. Then _he_ had walked into Sickbay and all control had been lost.

Fortunately for her, they had both been alone in the room when she humiliated herself before him and she had managed to retain at least a show of dignity once the virus wore off. His tension around her hadn't particularly bothered her then, she had been too busy trying to avoid him, unable to face up to the reality of what she had done. She had felt like a whore. There she was, engaged to be married, and with the ring to prove it, searching the galaxy for her missing fiancé while falling in love with another man. To a woman who valued loyalty as highly as she did, what she had done had felt like adultery and she had hated herself. Despite the small comfort of no one else knowing, McCoy had proven himself to be annoyingly perceptive and later M'Benga cottoned on too. She didn't know if she was truly that obvious or whether McCoy had told him. She didn't like either option.

And then had come the soup incident. Chapel curled in the seat again, staring at her datapad without seeing it. Some people had noticed that she was conscientious about the Vulcan's health. Certainly people had noticed she often did a Yeoman's job when he was neglecting himself by ensuring a meal made it to his quarters so he could eat without distraction from his work. But he hadn't been the only person on board she did that favour for, so the rumours had remained quiet, unsure of how much to read into it.

Until the day it happened. The day he threw her out of his quarters into a corridor full of people, almost at the feet of Captain Kirk and Doctor McCoy. And the words Spock had uttered! If people hadn't been sure what to read into her dinner visits to Spock's quarters before, they had no such qualms after that incident. The news that the Head Nurse had made an inappropriate advance on the First Officer spread around the ship like wildfire and people began to believe that she was some kind of stalker who had tried to take advantage of the Vulcan when he was ill.

She sighed irritably and tried to bring her thoughts back under her control. It was the music, she realised. These were issues she had dealt with, memories she had learned to live with, but he was playing something sad, something Terran. Gloom permeated the entire room - she was not the only person affected by the atmosphere. It wasn't just the music, it was the recent accident in the biolabs as well. Typically for an Andorian, Ensign Wylp had made friends quickly on the _Enterprise_ and she knew people were worried about him. She suspected that Spock's musical choice had been affected by the crew's mood rather than being the cause of it. It was something she had noticed on the first tour. Denying emotional concerns, the Vulcan would never publicly admit to being affected by such illogical impulses, and many people had believed the act.

Chapel had never been one of those people.

She had noticed it very quickly after first signing on board but it had taken her many months to be certain of the connection. She had not known whether it was because he was a telepath, or whether he was far better at interpreting Human moods than he let on. She still didn't know but often his musical performances in the rec room would reflect the moods and attitudes of the crew, too often for it to be coincidence. Sometimes, it would seem as though he was attempting to bring the pervading mood into a focus that could be understood and addressed - whether for the crew, or for himself, she had never known. At other times, his music had seemed at odds with the mood, almost deliberately so, as if he was attempting to redirect attitudes along a different path.

The doctor had often wondered if her theorising was mere whimsy - humanising a man who was not Human. By the time she had left the ship to complete her M.D. she had concluded she was not wrong. Whether he had always had this ability, or whether it was something he had learned from Uhura, Chapel also did not know. What the ACMO did know was that with a single musical performance, each alone could make emotions within a room soar, or plunge into the blackest depths. Together, however, their performances were indescribable.

Fortunately, given the current mood, Spock was playing alone. She recognised the music, it was an old song from several centuries previously, something popular rather than a classic and she couldn't quite remember the name of it. She had a copy somewhere in her quarters though because the lyrics were about a man who was yearning to be a hero. For a while after the soup incident she had been a sucker for sinking herself into fits of depression by listening to sad songs and this song had filled her with an aching need to be a different person, to find a life that could help her become more than she currently was.

Chapel quickly gave up trying to remember the lyrics. Her brain was just to fuddled with sleep to really care, although she was surprised by his choice. It wasn't the sort of song she would have expected a Vulcan to know. She glanced in Spock's direction again and his dark gaze suddenly lifted to lock with hers as if he had somehow sensed her movement. His playing didn't falter but neither did his stare and, for a moment, Chapel stopped breathing.

Maybe it was Ensign Wylp's condition. Maybe it was the mood. Maybe it was the need for sleep. More probably it was a combination of all three but, for a moment, she felt trapped by the look in his eyes. It was not something she had ever seen before on his face. She could not name the expression yet part of her, a deeply hidden, primal part, stirred restlessly in recognition.

_Okay, Christine. You're tired, you're depressed, you're brooding. You know it's the music. He's wondering why you're staring at him, that's all it is. In a minute he'll look away and find something more interesting to do_. On cue, he abruptly looked away, his attention returning to his lyre as if he had not just raised his head and found the ACMO rudely staring at him.

She sucked in a deep breath, then let it escape in a sigh of relief. What she needed, she decided, was to stop worrying about work and get a decent night's sleep. Her gaze returned to the _Long Beach_ reports and she sighed, rubbing her eyes.

When she had agreed to this position, she had thought she was signing up for a dual-role: ACMO and chief xenologist. She had quickly discovered that she had been mistaken. She was effectively doing three jobs - being an ACMO and being a doctor was not the same thing, each carried its own separate duties and responsibilities. At the moment, she didn't have to worry about her role as the ship's xenological expert. There was currently little opportunity to engage in such research. If life forms were discovered within the Sethlans System, however, her workload would increase dramatically.

What if it increased too much?

There was a clink as glass impacted gently with the surface of the table. Chapel looked up from her datapad as Spock placed down two glasses of water and sat down on the opposite side. She noticed his lyre was carefully resting in a spare seat and found herself questioning how he had managed to juggle a lyre and two glasses of water without dropping anything. Vulcans were, after all, like Humans with regards to how many limbs they possessed. She wondered when the music had stopped.

Then she wondered why he had obtained a glass of water for her. In all the years she had known Spock, the doctor could not remember him ever before doing such a thing. She decided not to belabour the point. Where Spock was concerned, belabouring points was never a good idea. "Thanks," she said, lifting the glass to her lips and draining it.

Chapel only realised she had emptied the entire glass at once when his eyebrows vanished into his hairline. "I was thirsty," she said defensively.

"You are tired," his response was almost dismissive, as if their two statements were connected and the subject therefore resolved.

She considered that for a moment, and then realised it was probably true. She _did_ drink more water when she was tired. Her lips pursed, wondering when on earth he had noticed that. "To what do I owe the pleasure?" she gestured to his seat to indicate his presence at her table. He rarely took a seat without first asking permission. She contemplated asking him why he had not done so this time but then refrained. Even if it was a little odd for the Vulcan, all her Human friends did the same thing. It wasn't an important matter.

He steepled his fingers in front of his face, watching her thoughtfully. There was a moment's pause before he asked, "What is Ensign Wylp's condition?"

She studied him curiously. A thought flashed briefly through her mind that it was not the question he had been planning to voice. "Critical," she sighed. "Bones is with him at the moment."

"Your anaphylaxis treatment is not a cure?"

"Too early to say," she tried to keep her tone noncommittal but knew she was failing when his dark eyes focused a little more intently on her face. He was analysing her expression and Chapel felt herself begin to blush. She was the complete opposite of a Vulcan - she always struggled to hide her emotions.

"You are doubtful," he observed.

She sighed and nodded. "I think we should have seen some improvement by now if it was going to work." She considered that for a moment, then frowned at him. "But that just means we'll search a different avenue," she added firmly.

The Vulcan's eyes displayed a hint of amusement at her defiance. "Of that I have no doubt, Doctor."

She nodded, unconsciously nibbling her lip as she wrestled with herself. It was a question she wanted to ask, but she wasn't certain how to phrase it without sounding like she couldn't cope. At last she sighed. "Spock, how do you juggle being a scientist, the Science Officer and the First Officer all at once?"

One eyebrow flew upwards. "Planning, organisation, routine," he responded simply.

She eyed him, listening to the silence that followed. "That easy, eh?" she said dryly.

The Vulcan returned her stare with one of his own. He didn't reply immediately, he seemed to be considering his response. Or possibly, he was considering why she had asked the question in the first place. "No," he admitted at last. "It is not that easy. However, structuring my daily activities both establishes control over my workload and allows me time to relax."

Her eyebrows shot up. "Why, Mr. Spock," she feigned surprise. "You actually know how to relax?" She leaned forward and conspiratorially lowered her voice. "Don't tell Doctor McCoy, he might just have a heart attack."

Spock hesitated for only a moment then also leaned in very slightly. "Then we must endeavour to never repeat this conversation within his hearing," he replied just as softly.

She stared at him. His face was absolutely expressionless. She grinned anyway. "My lips are sealed," she promised him and watched in amusement as one of his eyebrows rose. "By the way," she added, more seriously. "I'm not sure this _Long Beach_ information is of any use to me right now," she placed her datapad on the table in front of her. "I'm good at the things I do, but astrophysics isn't one of them."

He looked down at the datapad thoughtfully. "What clarification do you require?"

She glanced a the chronometer, observing how late it was. "Everything," she said ruefully. "At least, too much to discuss it tonight. I've got an early shift tomorrow."

"We can discuss it tomorrow after dinner, if you prefer," he replied instantly.

"Officer's Mess, twenty hundred hours?"

"Acceptable."

"Good, I'll bring the pads with me tomorrow then," she rose, gathering up her work and then threw him an arch look. "Be there or be square, Mr. Spock." Biting back a grin, she left the rec room and headed for bed, leaving a very bemused Vulcan behind.

* * *

Chapel almost felt like crawling into her office. She made it as far as her chair and collapsed, forehead sinking onto the desk in front of her. With distinct relief, the doctor reflected that it was a good thing her shift had ended because she didn't think she had any energy left to even contemplate lifting her head. Her neck cricked and she groaned, forcing herself to sit up properly, rubbing her aching shoulders wearily.

The last thing she had remembered the previous evening, had been stretching out in bed before being rudely awoken by her chronometer the following morning. It should have been a decent night's sleep but she hadn't felt rested at all. She had found herself troubled by a lingering unease, a sensation that always plagued her whenever she had suffered disturbing dreams or nightmares that she couldn't quite remember the detail of upon waking.

Such thoughts had been forgotten completely on arriving in Sickbay. Chapel had entered amid a sea of chaos; Ensign Wylp had been in the process of crashing - again. It was as if the treatments had slowed down the inevitable, rather than being the cure they had initially hoped for. The staff was now convinced that whatever was going on, it had not been an allergic reaction as they had first thought.

If Chapel had been a gambling woman, she would have decided it was some kind of unknown disease or illness, but if that was the case, it wasn't contagious. None of the others who had experienced the laboratory accident with him showed any of these symptoms, there was nothing in the Andorian database about conditions like this ... in fact, there was nothing in the ship's database at all about symptoms like this. To all intents and purposes, he had suffered anaphylactic shock. Was continuing to periodically suffer it, in fact, regardless of treatment. She was no longer convinced their administrations were keeping him alive, but that something else was doing that for them.

Chapel was not at all certain this was a good thing, nor could she prove what was essentially just a gut feeling. McCoy had humoured her, assigned her a pathology team, and she had spent the entire day working with them on trying to isolate whatever it was inside him that was causing his condition. They had worked without rest or food for nine hours straight and now she was so tired she could barely keep her eyes open. And they were still no closer to even locating the problem.

"What the devil are you still doing here, young lady?" McCoy snapped from the entrance to her small office.

Chapel looked up at him with a sigh. She wasn't in the mood for acerbic humour or righteous indignation. She just wanted to be left alone to ... actually, she didn't want to be left alone at all right now. The ACMO gestured aimlessly to a seat. "What the hell is going on, Bones? Why can't we find anything wrong with him?"

McCoy grunted and lowered himself into the seat, looking worn, grey and almost washed out. "You found nothing?" he sounded dismayed.

"We're still waiting for histology on several tests but ... " she trailed off and shrugged. "We're confused, the databases turned up nothing, most of the tests are clean. We're stumped, Bones. I don't know what else to say."

McCoy studied her narrowly for several moments. "You can say you'll join me for dinner. You haven't had a bite to eat all day."

She smiled wanly. "On one condition."

"What's that?" there was a suspicious tone to his voice, she could see him gearing up for a fight.

She lifted her hand. "Help an old lady to her feet?"

One of his eyebrows rose slightly. It was a habit that he shared with Spock, one she liked to tease him about. This time, however, it just reminded her that she had agreed to meet with the Vulcan. She groaned and slumped forward. Dinner with Spock was the last thing she needed.

McCoy was on his feet the moment she groaned and peering at her with a professional eye. "What's wrong?" he started to reach for a mediscanner but she waved him away.

"I just remembered I'm supposed to be discussing astrophysics with Spock at twenty hundred hours."

"Well you can just go right ahead and cancel that," he replied tartly. "Doctors orders."

She pushed herself to her feet and glanced at the chronometer. She was five minutes late already and sighed. "Well, it was dinner and physics. How about joining us?" McCoy raised an eyebrow and opened his mouth but she continued quickly. "Bones, it's the only way I'll get you off my back about eating a decent meal, and we both know it."

They stared at each other for several moments. "Alright," McCoy agreed eventually. "But I'm also going to make sure that walking computer doesn't talk you to death."

She nodded agreeably. Avoiding physics right now was one order she was happy to follow.

* * *

The Officers Mess was busy when the two doctors walked in. They spotted Kirk almost immediately, off to one side and talking to Chekov, the serious looks on both their faces revealling the conversation was all business. Spock was harder to find, sat in a quiet corner by himself, accompanied only by three datapads. He wasn't reading however, he was sat very still, fingers steepled in front of his face, eyes closed. With a nod to McCoy, she headed straight for the food slots, suddenly realising how hungry she really was. McCoy followed in silence.

Spock's eyes snapped open as the two doctors arrived at his table, studying them both with an expressionless brown gaze.

"Sorry I'm late," she found herself apologising, half-collapsing into a seat and almost dropping her tray on the desk. "It's been one of those days."

McCoy unceremoniously dropped into a seat on the other side of Spock. One Vulcan eyebrow shot up at the realisation that the CMO was settling in for dinner and his dark gaze was met by a bold, challenging stare. Spock's attention flickered between both doctors for a moment. "You do not look well," he said finally, his words directed more towards Chapel than McCoy.

"_We_ are just tired," McCoy said dryly. "Wylp's still entertaining us all with surprises in Sickbay."

"Am I to understand from your illogical flippancy that the Ensign's condition has not improved?"

"Yeah, you understand just fine, Spock," the doctor's tone was now decidedly sarcastic.

"You have not isolated the cause of his condition?"

"Nope. Still a mystery."

Spock contemplated McCoy thoughtfully. "Doctor, given the circumstances, I find your humour inexplicable."

"No, Spock, your Vulcan half finds my humour inexplicable. Your Human half understands just fine," he leaned forward, and continued, his voice almost conspiratorial. "All you have to do is pay attention to it."

The Vulcan raised one perplexed eyebrow. "Doctor, my statement is not invalidated by the fact I am half-Human."

McCoy stared at him for a moment, then burst out into a flood of laughter. Chapel looked up from where she had been ravenously attacking her soup, a slightly worried light in her eyes. Spock probably wouldn't recognise it, given his general lack of experience with emotions, but she could see an edge of hysteria to McCoy's behaviour and she was suddenly concerned that he was far more exhausted than he was letting on.

McCoy, however, regained control of himself quickly. "Alright, maybe it's not that funny," he conceded. He gave the Vulcan another challenging stare. "I'm just letting off steam, Spock. Humans do it all the time."

"Doctor, I do not believe I have ever witnessed any Humans on board this ship expel pressurised water vapour during dinner conversations," Spock replied blandly.

"Confound it all, Spock! It's a blasted expression, you lousy son of a..."

"Bones," Chapel mumbled.

McCoy glared at her for a moment, then turned his fiery gaze on Spock. "You just thank the stars there's a lady present, Mr. Spock," he warned tightly.

A stubborn expression appeared in the Vulcan's gaze. "Doctor, I do not belie--"

"Spock," Chapel's voice was a little firmer now.

The First Officer glanced at her, one eyebrow rising at being interrupted from this unlikely source.

"Gentlemen, you can play later. At the risk of sounding subordinate, kindly shut up so I can eat. Please?"

Two right eyebrows rose in unison at her reaction. She stared at their near-identical expressions for several moments then, unable to hold it in any longer, began to laugh - her own voice carrying with it the edge of hysteria McCoy had displayed only moments before.

* * *

The pristine walls of the _Enterprise_ were starting to blur together into long, seamless silver beams, interspersed occasionally by slightly darker protrusions. _Bulkheads,_ Chekov wearily thought to himself as he walked down the corridor, one more corridor identical to all the rest. He paused at an intersection, feeling a sudden sense of disorientation, not sure for a moment where he was or where he was going. He stared at the patch of red that was revealed when the corridor continued around the corner. _Turbo lift_, he numbly catalogued.

Two ensigns walked passed, laughing about the datapad one of them was carrying. They nodded to the Security Chief and that brief gesture brought the young Lieutenant out of his reverie. He blinked and sleepily rubbed his eyes. It had only been a couple of days, what was going on? Of course, he hadn't managed to grab much sleep recently but that was normal for life on board a starship. He had served on the _Enterprise_ for many years already, he was used to long hours, high stress working environments, and lack of sleep.

His brain was refusing to be convinced and he could feel a yawn threatening to escape. He resisted it and pushed himself into motion. Biolab 1. He remembered now. He was heading to Biolab 1 to speak with Mr. Scott about how the investigation into the lab accident was progressing. He sighed to himself, wondering if it was possible that three months shore leave had been too long and if he was going to have to get used to deep space all over again.

As he walked, he checked his datapad. So far, there was very little making sense about this laboratory accident. Biolab 1 had been set aside as a culture lab. Cell cultures, bacterial cultures, viral cultures - medical need, personal research projects, scientific experimentation. There were a host of reasons for those growth cultures to be there and not a single one was dangerous. Two cultures would cause minor influenza-like symptoms if exposed to Humans who had not been inoculated but Doctor McCoy had assured him the symptoms would be no worse than coming down with a cold for a couple of days. A third culture had a tendency to cause mild skin irritation in Vulcanoids. There was nothing else of note.

Chekov sighed. Humans and Andorians had been in the lab that day. An Andorian was fighting for his life in Sickbay, reacting to ... something. Yet none of these cultures were threatening to Andorians. Not even on a minor level. And of the Humans in the room at the time, none of them had developed even a sniffle from the failed forcefields. With the technological failure, the experiments were now all ruined, having suffered cross-contamination and mixing with the escaped plasma, but none of the Humans had become sick. The second Andorian also had not become sick.

Chekov picked up his pace slightly. He was certain he had covered every angle. Every experiment in the lab was accounted for. Every culture was approved with written authorisation signed by either the CMO, ACMO or Science Officer. Chekov had interviewed every single crewmember associated with the various experiments, he had only the six injured technicians left to speak to. He had gone through the records of everyone who had used Biolab 1 since leaving Earth's orbit and had investigated the transporter and shuttlecraft logs to find out the manner in which each culture arrived on board. He had eliminated much in these searches, but what was left made no sense whatsoever. There was absolutely no indication that there was, or ever had been, a biological hazard contained in a forcefield in Biolab 1.

If it wasn't for Ensign Wylp, lying so close to death in Sickbay, he might even have closed down the investigation and reported it as an unfortunate laboratory accent. There was no evidence to suggest it was anything else, but the young Andorian's condition was ample proof that the investigation had missed _something_. Chekov hated loose ends.

A muffled thudding coming from inside Biolab 1 interrupted Chekov's train of thought. "No, lass!" he heard Scott's voice cry out suddenly, strained with effort and breathless. "Don't move a muscle or I'll drop you for sure!" There was a loud crash as something heavy collided with something metallic and a muffled growl. Chekov didn't wait to hear anymore and moved forward, wishing he had a phaser. Bracing himself in case he was required to move swiftly, Chekov moved into range of the sensors and the doors slid silently open.

The lab was a mess. Equipment was lying all over the floor, and all over the work surfaces. Vent gratings were on the floor instead of being properly attached and cabling was strewn everywhere. In the middle of all this chaos, Scott was on his knees frantically hunting with his hands for something, sweat beading his face and his cheeks flushed with anxiety. Behind him a shadow moved, detaching itself from the wall and, out of the corner of his eye, Chekov saw a flash of metal.

He didn't think, he just acted. With a cry of warning, he was across the intervening space, stooping as he ran until he barrelled into the engineer sending them both careering across the ground to land in a tumble of arms, legs and optical fibres. Behind him, Chekov heard an almighty crash that ended in a sickening crunch and suddenly ... nothing.

"Chekov!" Scott gasped, struggling to rise. Chekov pushed himself up, checking the room quickly. There was no movement that he could see and, aside from Scott's laboured breathing, the lab was silent. A little puzzled, the Security Chief rose to his knees, scanning cautiously until his eyes found the spot Scott had been standing in a moment before.

For a moment, Chekov thought the ceiling had collapsed. There were panels, grating, conduit hatches, shattered all around the floor. A tricorder buzzed uselessly underneath the rubble, probably unsalvageable now, and cable was hanging out of holes that had appeared on the walls. Chekov regained his feet, staring. There was nowhere an attacker could have hidden, he realised suddenly.

"Mr. Chekov, what the devil do you think you're doing!" Scott snapped, rising to his feet behind him.

Chekov cleared his throat and turned to face Scott. The Chief Engineer didn't seem any the worse for wear, but his gaze was fiery as it locked on Chekov. "I heard ..." he began then paused, scanning the room again with a calmer eye. Sure enough, while at first appearing haphazardly arranged, equipment was stacked in a manner that allowed Scott easy access to the tools or technology he needed. Ducts had been opened all over the lab, doors and gratings lying specifically arranged so they could reattached quickly and efficiently. The displaced cabling was wired back into tricorders and computers running diagnostics of the systems. What - at first glance - had seemed to be evidence of a battlefield, was nothing more than the controlled chaos of a technician who enjoyed spreading his work about. Chekov turned a bemused gaze on the indignant Second Officer. "I thought you were in trouble, Mr. Scott. You were shouting fit to wake the dead."

Scott continued to glare at him for a moment longer. "Aye, lad," his expression softened. "I was talking to my bairns. No harm was done ..." he paused glancing at the mess behind Chekov and wondering whether they would have been having this conversation here or in Sickbay had Chekov not misinterpreted the scene. "And it seems plenty was avoided," he concluded.

Chekov stepped away, looking around the room again. "How are the repairs coming, Mr. Scott?"

"It's taking its own sweet time, lad," Scott sighed. "There was a mix-up in the diagnostic reports and I'm having to have them redone," he gestured to the relays that he had hooked up to the computer.

"What kind of mix-up?"

Scott shook his head in disgust. "Ensign Robson only conducted a level 2 diagnostic of the optics. The kind of mistake you'd expect from a cadet. She's been disciplined for it and it should not happen again. But still, it was ill timed. It's going to take an extra two days to complete the diagnostics now."

Chekov sighed. "And you still find nothing unusual?"

Scott's eyes narrowed. "Lad, the fact I'm not finding anything _is_ unusual!" he snapped in frustration. "The force fields work fine. There's not anything wrong with them. Meaning they should not have failed in the first place."

"Then why did they fail? Did someone switch them off?"

Scott was shaking his head before Chekov had even finished. "No, lad, the only ones who could have switched off the force field were the technicians who were in the room at the time. Ensign Wylp was the closest and he's at death's door. I don't believe any of them could have messed with the force fields without the others knowing. Besides, they'd have to be in the room and that's a bit dangerous, wouldn't you say, Mr. Chekov?"

Chekov nodded glumly and added this into his datapad. His fingers froze as he heard Scott draw in a sharp breath and he looked up quickly. Scott was staring at the isolation chamber that had failed with wild eyes.

"What is it, Mr. Scott?" he demanded.

"Hush, lad!" Scott hurried over to the bench and began rummaging around for a datapad. On finding the one he wanted, he began calling up information, scanning it almost frantically. "The reports are not done yet," he put the report down. "To the Bridge, Mr. Chekov! And put a security seal on the lab when we leave it!"

He was racing out of the room before a bemused Chekov could open his mouth to respond.

* * *

McCoy was standing next to Spock's station as Scott and Chekov breezed onto the Bridge. Almost no one was aware of their arrival, all attention on the viewscreen as Kirk argued vehemently with the Captain of the Rigellian freighter that was hanging off their port bow. McCoy glanced in the direction of the pair, eyebrows rising slightly as he observed their excitement. They were clearly unaware of the tension on the Bridge as they bent over the Engineering station and began transferring information from a datapad Chekov was holding. He glanced at Spock who also looked in the direction of the Second Officer.

"Passengers, Jim?" McCoy asked sympathetically, when Uhura closed the communications channel.

Kirk's jaw was tense and his frustration at losing the debate was clear "Looks that way, Bones," he rose and restlessly paced over to the Science Station. "We better get quarters arranged for her if she's going to be our guest for two weeks." His eyes narrowed at Spock. "I don't want her interfering with the running of this ship, Mr. Spock. We've got enough on our plate without babysitting women who can't even arrange the correct transportation to Vulcan."

One slim eyebrow rose. "If the passenger is Vulcan, I doubt she will significantly impact the efficiency of the crew."

Kirk's eyes narrowed dangerously at Spock but he was saved from answering by the commotion at the Engineering Station. "That does not make any sense," Scott snapped, glaring at the computer as if it was playing some kind of joke on him.

"Let me see, Mr. Scott," Chekov said calmly, leaning over and looking at the information. He shook his head. "You're right. It doesn't make any sense," he looked back at his datapad and began keying in information as a grumbling Chief Engineer began rearranging the parameters of his search.

"There!" Chekov suddenly exclaimed triumphantly.

"You have something, lad?" Scott looked up quickly.

Chekov leaned over and quickly transferred his new information into the main computer and leaned back as the computer whirred. Scott stared at the new results then looked up sharply at the Russian. "Is it possible?" Chekov asked.

"Aye, lad," Scott shook his head. "And it should be easy to trace if you're right." He sat down at the chair, his fingers racing over the console.

Chekov turned and walked across the Bridge to the Science Station. "Mr. Spock, can you find a list of crew members with the technical expertise required to manipulate force field technology?"

Kirk's eyes narrowed and McCoy straightened immediately from where he was leaning against the workstation. Spock, however, barely twitched as he swung around to his station to commence the search.

"You better include microelectronic expertise and knowledge of positional synthesis in that as well, Mr. Spock," Scott said, suddenly standing at Chekov's shoulder.

Spock's fingers froze on his console.

"Nanotechnology, Mr. Scott?" McCoy was the first to speak.

Scott handed Kirk the datapad he was holding who read it in silence as he continued. "Aye, Doctor. It's the one thing I did not look for originally. The _Enterprise_ does not have many nanotechnology specialists on board."

"Indeed," Spock said dryly. "Aside from myself and Mr. Scott, the only specialists are Lieutenants Newman and Summers. Doctors McCoy and Chapel have experience with medical applications for nanotechnology and molecular surgery as does Nurse Wahler," he turned in his chair to look at the group of Humans hovering over him, one eyebrow raised. He could not remember a time when his station had been so popular.

Scott cleared his throat. "Unless the medical staff are hiding something we do not know, the only ones with the expertise to use nanotechnology to manipulate charged particle beams would be Summers, Newman, Spock and myself."

"So, someone's been using nanotechnology to mess up Biolab's controls?" McCoy's eyes were narrowed in thought.

"Aye, Doctor. Ignoring the substance in containment, the forcefield did not fail on its own. Diagnostics will confirm it, but I already have most of the information I need. And it was not manually turned off by the team in there with it, which means someone timed it to fail. And no-one timed it through the computer because there's not any logs left behind."

"Couldn't the logs have been deleted?"

"Not without leaving trace files that can be detected if you know how to find them. There had to be technology in place to make the forcefields fail that was independent of the computers and it had to be technology too small for regular scans to detect."

Kirk's eyes narrowed as he finally lifted his eyes from the datapad. "Where would the nanites be hiding, Mr. Scott? In the forcefield?"

"No, Captain. The particle charge would render them inoperable."

Chekov's eyes widened. "In the culture!" As the all looked at him, he shifted weight in his excitement. "Captain, the cultures were not dangerous but six men ended up in Sickbay. The forcefield failed but should not have caused a plasma explosion. What if it wasn't the failing forcefield that was the fault of the explosion? Or the contaminated cultures that caused the health hazard?"

Spock tilted his head slightly "If Mr. Chekov's theory fits the available facts, it is logical to assume the force field was designed to fail for the purpose of releasing the nanites into the atmosphere utilising a plasma explosion to hide any evidence of microelectronic manipulation that may have remained."

"For what purpose, Mr. Spock?"

"Unknown, Captain."

"To attack one of the engineers working in the lab at the time?" Chekov suggested. "Their work was routine, their schedule was not secret. Anyone could have known what time they would be working there and who would be on the team."

"Why, Chekov, _why_?" Kirk demanded.

Chekov sighed "I don't know, Captain."

Kirk rubbed his forehead trying to will away his pounding headache. "Alright. Cross-reference all the people on board who have the technological expertise to carry this out with the six men who were injured. I don't care how far back in their records you have to go and I don't care how personal the information gets. Find out if there's a connection. None of the men are dead, I need to know if this is going to happen again!"

* * *

Kirk slumped over his coffee barely listening to Spock, Scott and Chekov as they debated the crew manifests over the terminal in the corner of the room. He supposed he should be paying more attention but it wasn't his area of expertise and his head was throbbing. He was just contemplating giving up on the coffee and going to find McCoy for some pain relief when the CMO himself walked into the briefing room. He paused, cocking one eyebrow at how busy the room was, then slid into a chair next to Kirk.

"Jim, you look like sheep shit in a shallow pond," he declared without preamble.

Kirk straightened with wry smile. "Is that a medical opinion, Bones?"

"Don't make me order you to bed."

Kirk waved his concern away. "It's just a headache," he took a swig of his coffee and glanced over at the other three thoughtfully.

"How's it going?" McCoy followed his gaze.

"Slowly," Kirk sighed.

"Good," the doctor rose. At the look of surprise on the Captain's face, he clarified. "Gives you time to relax and get yourself something to eat before they need you again."

Kirk stared at him, then glanced back at the others. Spock looked in his direction. "Your presence is not required, Jim," the First Officer commented, indicating that, despite his apparent distraction, he had quite clearly heard the conversation.

For a moment, Kirk wasn't sure whether to feel insulted by the implication he was unnecessary before remembering that Spock didn't mean it as dismissively as it sounded. He sighed and rose with a nod of agreement to McCoy. "Alright, Bones, you win. Dinner it is," he said as they headed for the door. "I don't suppose you'd care to join me in a game of chess?" he couldn't resist adding.

McCoy's reply was cut off by the comm. _"Lieutenant Jefferies to Captain Kirk. Come in, Captain Kirk."_

Kirk stifled a groan. Although he hit the comm on the wall harder than was necessary, his voice was completely professional when he spoke. "Kirk here."

_"Captain, we beamed aboard the Vulcan from the _S'Kiht _as instructed and escorted her to the quarters assigned her, but we've just heard she's not stayed there. She was pretty insistent on speaking to you. We think she's headed your way."_

"Did she explain why she wanted to speak with me?" Kirk could hear the three men rise to their feet behind him and a movement just behind his shoulder. Without turning, he knew it was Chekov. The Security Chief could move faster than his shorter size suggested.

_"No, sir. She said it was a private matter."_

"Understood, Kirk out." Kirk released the comm, eyes irritated. It was turning into one of those days that refused to end. He took a deep breath and palmed the comm again but just as he was about to speak, the doors slid open and a young woman stepped inside.

Everyone froze.

The woman wasn't very tall, nor was she particularly short either. Her hair was coifed up in a very complicated style that spilled down the back of her neck, loosely framing her delicate shoulders and revealing the graceful arch of her pointed ears. The style of her dress was quite peculiar, Terran design influenced by Vulcan fashion, flowing yet hugging her curves, almost giving the sensation that she floated into the room. Kirk had not met many youthful Vulcan women in his time but while T'Pring had been beautiful, this woman was, quite simply, stunning.

She paused when the doors slid shut, her smooth angular features lifting upwards, her dark brown eyes centring almost immediately on the single gold uniform in the room. Her hands folded lightly in front of her abdomen and her head tilted very slightly. There was something familiar about her body language, Kirk realised instantly. He was certain he had never before seen this women and yet he couldn't quite shake a sudden sense of déjà vu.

"Captain Kirk," Her voice was calm, efficient, barely accented. It was without question, as if she already knew him.

Kirk removed his hand from the comm panel and straightened. Spock had unusual expertise with Human tongues for a Vulcan. His dual heritage had made him comfortably multi-lingual with both his father and his mother's native languages. Not even a Vulcan with Sarek's linguistic ability spoke to Humans without an accent and Kirk was therefore surprised by this young woman's fluency as she addressed them now. He masked it. He was really too annoyed to be surprised for long.

Chekov stepped forward, scowling at the woman, his physical presence a silent threat should she attempt to come closer. She observed this with a cool demeanour, her face devoid of expression.

But her eyes twinkled.

"Lieutenant Chekov, your duty to your Captain is commendable but I am no threat to any of you." she turned once more to Kirk. "Ambassador Sarek would speak with you, Captain. However, since he cannot, I come in his place. My name is T'Van and I come to serve.".

Kirk stared silently at her for a moment unsure of what he was more surprised by - the announcement that she was here on behalf of the Ambassador, her easy knowledge of their identities or her rather un-Vulcan greeting. He cleared his throat. "Spock, do you know this woman? Is she who she claims?"

It took Spock a few moments to answer. Kirk turned to stare at the Vulcan, who hastily dropped his eyebrow back into place and positioned his hands behind his back assuming a cool, expressionless demeanour. "Her name is indeed T'Van. I cannot verify her claim on this occasion but it would not be the first time Sarek has asked her to speak for him ..." he paused only briefly before continuing "... in matters of a personal nature."

Kirk frowned. Spock had ended his statement on an almost questioning note and the dark brown gaze slid to the woman. The two Vulcans stared at each other in silence and an odd tension seemed to fill the room. "This better be good," he muttered before turning back and assuming a more appropriate demeanour. "Would you care to sit ... Miss T'Van?"

Not a muscle moved in T'Van's face but suddenly her dark eyes sparkled, startling Kirk by how easy that gaze was to read. He was not used to such easy emotional cues in Vulcans. Not even in the half-Human Mr. Spock. He studied her narrowly, watching her eyelids lower slightly - a barely perceptible gesture but one that seemed to accentuate her barely hidden humour. Again, a sense of familiarity swept over him. He had seen that expression somewhere before. But where?

Without waiting for the men to offer, she moved to sit down, waiting for the others to take a seat before folding her hands gently together in her lap and fixing Kirk with a cool gaze. "T'Van is sufficient," she said.

"Very well, T'Van," Kirk said dryly, shaking off his confusion to focus on the issue at hand. "The Rigellians informed me they were beaming over a passenger who absolutely had to get to Vulcan within the next two weeks and we were the only ship in the area on a Vulcan heading. I don't appreciate being lied to."

"There was no lie, Captain," she said calmly. "I _am_ required to be on Vulcan within the next two weeks. It is for that reason Ambassador Sarek contacted me. He asked me to adjust my travel plans to ensure the _Enterprise_ would help me complete my journey so that I may speak with you without the Vulcan High Council questioning my presence on board this ship."

The Humans all stared at her. "Sarek engaging in deception?" McCoy asked dryly.

Her eyes twinkled again. "He would disagree with your assessment, Doctor McCoy. He would clarify it as diplomatic urgency."

"Alright," Kirk growled. "I'm sick of hearing about diplomacy, urgency and the Vulcan High Council. What am I sending my ship into, T'Van?"

Apparently unperturbed by the very Human emotionalism she was being exposed to she inclined her head. "It is a matter of internal politics, Captain. Conservatism aligned against IDIC, to use my own interpretation of what is happening. The survey mission undertaken by the _Long Beach_ has been used in the debates of the Chambers as an example of why Vulcan should oppose Starfleet."

Kirk felt a small nuclear explosion go off behind his left eye. "How _exactly_ does this affect the _Enterprise_?" he asked through clenched teeth.

"Vulcans do not approve of Starfleet, Captain. This was the view of the Council, unchallenged by Vulcans because there was no reason to challenge," she paused. "Then one Vulcan entered Starfleet. He has not only remained but has been successful. Now other Vulcans have begun entering Starfleet. This has invited debate and not all of it favourable to that Vulcan's family or to Starfleet."

Kirk glanced at Spock, who arched an eyebrow. _He looks almost rueful_, Kirk thought absently. "I'm aware of some of that debate," he said sourly, unable to prevent himself from remembering the wedding ceremony and what Spock had told him about T'Pring's reasons for the challenge.

"Indeed," she agreed calmly. "The Vulcan Science Academy works closely with Starfleet. Because they are located on Vulcan instead of Earth, debate was not considered necessary. Their science vessels remained autonomous to Vulcan rather than employing Starfleet personnel but this changed when the _Intrepid_ was destroyed."

She looked Kirk fully in the eye again, before her gaze lowered in slight amusement. "When it became known to the Academy what was the fate of the _Intrepid_ and the Gamma 7A solar system, the solution discovered by the _Enterprise_ also became known. The Academy was therefore convinced that a combination of Human creativity and Vulcan ability was how it was possible to neutralise a threat that neither Vulcans nor Humans alone had been equipped to resolve. Their conclusion was to accept the logic of a more equal partnership between themselves and Starfleet. This initiated a more open dialogue with regards to sharing resources and personnel and eventually led to the decision to allow the _Long Beach_ and Academy to work together on the Sethlans survey mission."

She paused for a moment, considering. "At no stage during this dialogue was the High Council consulted. The Academy considered the logic of the situation to be so indisputable that consultation was not necessary. The survey mission discovered evidence that suggested the Sethlans system might have connections to the Reformation. As a result, the High Council demanded that the Federation was not to be included in what was considered a private matter - that of the history of the Vulcan people. By then, it was too late to prevent the involvement of Starfleet. The _Long Beach_ was already concluding its part in the survey mission and the Academy had already agreed to accept the _Enterprise_ as a replacement vessel. When the High Council discovered this, great debate began and this is the situation you are now a part of," she fell silent, refolded her hands and waited patiently.

"The objection is lead by Seran?" Spock asked her.

"He leads the Cultural Preservation Committee and his words carry great weight in the Council," she replied.

Kirk rubbed his forehead. He hated politics with a passion and he just knew this was going to be even worse than normal because Vulcans could be so insufferably logical about some of the most illogical things. "And Sarek sent you to me, why?"

"The Council is not currently allowed to communicate directly with the _Enterprise_. I surmise this decision was made because of Spock's presence on board this vessel and that he is the son of Sarek. Sarek is therefore unable to speak with you on this matter. However, I am not a member of the Council and was not on Vulcan at the time of this debate. Sarek betrayed no rules or agreements by speaking with me and I have betrayed none by speaking with you."

"Vulcans," Chekov groaned, expressing the sentiment of every Human in the room. Then he flushed. "No offence."

"There is none taken," she responded easily. "At times, I also consider Vulcans to be insufferable."

They all stared at her. Even Spock. Her slim eyebrows lifted slowly, an almost sly twinkle visible in her gaze. Kirk found himself mesmerised by those eyes. Her face throughout this meeting had been as expressionless as any Vulcan's but her eyes were almost as animated as a Human's. She seemed to possess no shame in allowing the Humans to see at least some of what she was feeling, or that she felt anything at all. She wasn't emotional in any Human sense of the word but she certainly wasn't stoically Vulcan either. This strange woman, who still seemed incredibly familiar, was fast turning into a mysterious contradiction and Kirk found that ... fascinating.


	4. Swings and Roundabouts

**Author's Notes:  
21/02/07: **I've revamped and replaced the contents of this chapter.

* * *

**Chapter 3: _Swings and Roundabouts_**

Negative.

Negative.

Nega--

Chapel dropped the last slide and pushed herself away from the scope. She glanced across at Atkins who shook her head. The nurse looked as defeated as she felt. Chapel sighed and heaved herself out of her seat, moving across to the terminals where the Head Nurse hadn't looked up once for the past three hours. "Jonas?" she asked softly.

Wahler jumped at the sound of her voice and turned in his seat. He had rings under his eyes and the bloodshot expression of a man who had spent too long at the computer. "Nothing," he mumbled.

"Everything's come back negative," she slumped into a seat and looked at her team. There was silence for a moment.

"Doctor, at this point I think we've ruled out anything pathological," Atkins sighed.

The ACMO nodded glumly. Atkins was one of the best pathologists on board and if she was out of ideas it was probably time to give up that theory.

"I've taken some DNA samples," Newman commented, pushing back his greying hair and joining the exhausted group at the lab bench they were gathering at.

"You think there's some shenanigans going on at the microcellular level?" Wahler didn't even bother getting up, he scooted his chair across to them from the terminal he had been working at.

"We've covered everything else. There's nothing left," Newman was older than most Lieutenants on the ship, having sacrificed a famous career in engineering and physics to pursue his current calling.

Well published in the fields of microfabrication and quantum mechanics, his research had had been spotted by Starfleet Medical, which had been investigating ways to improve the technological manipulation of life at the cellular and genetic level. Fascinated by this research, Newman had returned to school and enlisted fully educated in the fields to which Starfleet was applying his prior research. At home in Engineering, Science or Medical, there were few scientists in Starfleet with such wide-ranging competency; he was one of only a very few that could challenge Spock's scientific expertise. If the Vulcan ever resigned as Science Officer, no-one was in any doubt as to who his replacement would be. Newman sighed. "Unfortunately, there's nothing. His DNA hasn't been tampered with."

Chapel frowned. "Did you get samples of his RNA?"

"Yeah. Cellular RNA is fine. Still waiting for the mitochondrial analysis. But so far ... nothing."

Atkins buried her head in her arms. "This is insane," she muttered.

Chapel rose to her feet and walked out of the lab without another word. Atkins had summed up everyone's opinion right now. She walked into Sickbay and leaned up against the door frame of her office, where she could watch the gaggle of visitors near Wylp's bed unobserved.

Maberley, Prescott and Grabosky had been discharged quickly. Otherwise healthy, they were on medical leave while the inflammation in their lungs was being treated. The two burn victims were still restricted to Sickbay and spent much of the time they were allowed up gathered near the comatose Andorian. It had become an unspoken ritual between the ill-fated engineering team - no-one left Wylp alone for long.

Currently, they were playing poker. There was even a hand dealt for Wylp, Thalit checking his cards as his turn came. On the surface they seemed to be enjoying themselves but even from this distance Chapel could see the strain in their eyes and the tension in their bodies.

Suddenly Prescott leaned forward "I'm calling Wylp's hand."

Thalit grinned aggressively and showed them all Wylp's cards. The flame-haired engineer stared then smacked his head. "I can't even beat the unconscious guy? This _has_ to be fixed!"

There was a soft ripple of laughter from the group. "Well seriously, Red," Grabosky chortled. "That's the best damn poker face I've ever seen an Andorian wear. It's no wonder Wylp's won the last three games!"

The smiles that for only a few moments had been genuine faded quickly and they all looked at Wylp's monitors uncomfortably. Thalit reached across and patted Wylp's cold, still hand awkwardly and murmured something in Andorian. Summers wheezed slightly. "You're forgetting I know Andorian, Thalit," he said with a weak grin.

"Doesn't matter, I'll say it in Standard," the Andorian shrugged. "Wylp vowed he'd never learn such a weak Human game. Now he's beating us all at it. I don't know whether that proves his point or suggests something else," his antennae twitched wryly.

Chapel's senses sharpened suddenly as her skin flushed in response to the unmistakable sensation of a very warm body standing almost within touching distance of her. She sighed and relaxed knowing it could only be one person, closing her eyes, her shoulder leaning against his chest. It wasn't a deliberate gesture but given her proximity to the doorway, it was unavoidable. She did plan to let him into the office eventually but right now she just wanted that one brief moment of peace his presence was so good at bringing her. For a moment, she didn't speak, quietly gathering strength from his silent, but reassuring, presence. "This is going nowhere fast, Bones," she sighed at last.

"It would appear not," was the soft, but slightly dry, response.

Her eyes flew open and she sprang away from the door, swiftly putting the desk between them before she consciously thought about what she was doing. "Commander Spock," she leaned her hands on its smooth, unyielding surface to steady herself, aware she was blushing but unable to stop it. "I'm sorry, I thought you were Doctor McCoy."

"Really." For a brief moment, there was a slightly odd expression in his eyes but it vanished before she could interpret it. She suspected he didn't appreciate being mistaken for his preferred sparring partner. "Your presence is requested in Doctor McCoy's office," he added, as if it wasn't an issue at all.

Quickly she pulled her tattered dignity around her like a threadbare blanket and straightened. "Right. Thanks Spock," she hurried out of the room but quickly realised that the Vulcan was following her to the CMO's office.

"We've ruled out everything biological," she announced as soon as she entered the room.

McCoy grunted as the pair sat down. "We've got a new theory. How's your knowledge on remote genetic resequencing?"

Chapel stared at him then frowned, hunting through her memory. "That's what Newman's research has been focused on. Using nanotechnology to repair damage at the cellular and genetic level, without the need for standard invasive surgical techniques. I've been following the research but I've not been involved in it," she looked between the pair of them and her eyes narrowed. "What's going on?"

"It looks like someone's been hiding pre-programmed nanites in normally harmless bacterial cultures with the intention of transferring them to hosts like a parasitic vector," McCoy rubbed his face wearily. "Of course, that's our _theory_ right now. But if it's technology that's playing God with Wylp on a genetic level it's possible that's why we haven't found anything yet. We've been barking up the wrong tree."

Chapel was silent, observing their faces. McCoy looked serious, Spock looked expressionless. She sighed. "This will make Newman the chief suspect."

"I know," McCoy sounded testy. "That's why we're having the conversation here and not in a briefing for the entire research team."

"Nurse Wahler and Lieutenant Summers are also suspects," Spock added.

"You've got to be kidding me. Summers is recovering from third degree plasma burns! Why the hell would he do that to himself? And Jonas has been pulling double shifts trying to find a cure!"

"Doctor McCoy explained this to me," Spock replied blandly. "Anyone with the relevant expertise is currently a suspect."

McCoy grinned. "Including him," he thumbed in the Vulcan's direction.

"Really?" She studied Spock for a moment. "Should you be involved in this conversation if that's the case?"

"Your concern is quite valid, Doctor," he handed her the datapads he had been holding and rose. "From now on, you will report any findings to Lieutenant Chekov and Captain Kirk. I am no longer involved in this investigation," he nodded to them both and left the office.

"Uh ... I was joking," she said to the closed door then looked back at McCoy in consternation.

"He's right though. He's already had this discussion with Jim. Hit us with that damnable logic and regulations. You know the drill. We did manage to convince him he doesn't need to be relieved of duty though."

She laughed. "Sorry, it's not funny," she leaned forward. "We'll have to relieve Newman and Wahler from the team though."

McCoy nodded seriously. "I know."

"They're some of our best specialists, Bones. And it wasn't easy _with_ them."

"I know, Chris," he agreed soberly. Then he threw her a bright smile, feigning a confidence he didn't truly feel. "But we'll manage. We always do."

* * *

The solemn strains of the Vulcan lyre danced around the rec room holding the room enthralled. Uhura wasn't really paying attention to her audience, she was concentrating on a piece she had discovered at the end of the last mission. After four months of solid practice she still hadn't perfected it and her fingers were starting to ache. She was stubbornly refusing to ask Spock for help, determined to get through it alone. Part of the reason she was having so much trouble was that she hadn't been able to find any vocal accompaniment to the music. Singing often helped her to pace the music and hold the beat. She paused and stretched her fingers, easing the cramp.

"You have excellent command of Vulcan music, Commander."

Uhura looked up sharply to find a beautiful Vulcan woman gazing intently at her. She hadn't met the Vulcan passenger they had picked up from the Rigellian freighter until now, although she had heard the woman had imposed herself on the Captain already, much to Kirk's annoyance. She looked thoughtfully at the woman. "Have we met before?"

The woman returned her gaze curiously. "No, we have not. My name is T'Van."

"Nyota Uhura," she wasn't convinced by the woman's answer. There was something about the way the Vulcan tilted her head and arranged her shoulders that was glaringly familiar. "Do you play?"

"I do not play the _ka'athaira_ well enough to attempt the composition you seek to master."

Uhura sighed. "Seek. That's a good word. I've been trying to get this for four months. It's not going well."

"Unsurprising. The music you attempt to recreate on the _ka'athaira _is part of _Vukhut-var_ school. Alone you are incomplete."

Uhura mulled over the unfamiliar term "Body... story?"

A smile touched the Vulcan's eyes. "Not precisely. Do you speak Vulcan?"

"I'm a linguist, so I understand it as well as any Human can," Uhura smiled wryly. "I understand the relationship of the ancient root words with the modern usage but it makes translating into Federation Standard difficult."

"I sympathise. I am also a linguist," she sat down next to Uhura. "I am familiar with the Opera of Earth. It is a vocal musical style accompanied by an instrument that together creates a story. The _Vukhut-var_ achieves a similar purpose through dance instead of song."

Uhura's eyes widened. "Vulcan Opera?"

T'Van looked slightly amused. "We also utilise vocal forms but the piece you are attempting to play is _Sov-lates_ and it combines the _ka'athaira _with a dance form."

Uhura nodded. "I know the _Sov-lates_ is part of a much larger composition called the _Tam t'Meilak_ but I haven't been able to get hold of the other three parts."

"The _Tam t'Meilak_ is only one part of a _Vukhut-var_ called the _Mokuv t'Yon._ It is, however, the most famous part that most offworlders are familiar with," T'Van considered for a moment. "If the _ka'athaira_ is the only Vulcan instrument you play, it would not be logical for you to pursue any compositions other than _Sov-lates _and _Masu-lates_. The others do not use the _ka'athaira,_" she focused suddenly on Uhura again. "Nevertheless, it will be difficult for you to master this composition without a dance partner who knows the _Vukhut-var_ forms."

Uhura sighed. "I wish I had been told this in the first place. It would have saved months of sore joints."

"Is your mentor Spock?"

Uhura looked startled at the blunt question, and the easy familiarity with which she used Spock's name. "Yes. Do you know him?"

"Indeed. If you knew this form existed would you ask Spock to demonstrate the dance?"

Uhura tried to picture Spock dancing around the rec room to help her keep time on the lyre and began to laugh. "No wonder he's never mentioned it to me! He must be terrified I'd ask him to teach me!"

T'Van's lips twitched at the corners. "Indeed. Spock does not enjoy dancing. I, however, am trained in the _Vukhut-var,_" she rose. "If your fingers are rested I will demonstrate."

"What ... here?" Uhura stared at the peculiar Vulcan woman.

"There is plenty of space here. What would be the logic in relocating?" She stepped away from Uhura. "The dancer always leads. Begin."

The Vulcan stretched slowly and started a slow turn as Uhura began the piece from the top. She noticed the difference almost immediately. The swift, graceful movements of the Vulcan woman as she flew around the impromptu dance space guided the music in exactly the same way that a conductor controlled an orchestra. She brought life and form to the music that Uhura had been trying to learn and a few parts that had really confused her now made sense as she saw the dance steps that went with them. The dance lifted the music until it seemed as though the rhythm was floating on air before eventually descending back to earth and ending with T'Van poised in a deep curtsey, the lyre throbbing on a final note that lingered almost below the range of Human hearing.

Uhura stared at the Vulcan then at her aching fingers. "That's amazing," she said at last. "It really does make the music easier to play."

T'Van's eyes twinkled and she rose to her full height again. Then suddenly she folded her hands in front of her abdomen and raised both eyebrows, gazing past Uhura. The Communications Officer turned around to find Spock and Kirk standing nearby watching them. Kirk was staring at T'Van with admiration written all over his face and Uhura noticed that one of Spock's eyebrows was almost in his hairline.

"Explain," Spock said coolly.

T'Van stepped forward until next to Uhura and tilted her chin. Uhura thought she detected defiance and mischievous affection in the Vulcan woman's eyes as she met Spock's gaze. "We have not seen each other for 7.13 years and your first action is to question my logic? I should be insulted, Spahkh-kam."

Uhura had to fight to keep her jaw from dropping at the form of his name she used. There seemed to be no surprise in Spock's eyes at the affectionate term either. She glanced surreptitiously at T'Van suddenly burning with curiosity about this woman and her relationship with the First Officer.

"You are, of course, not insulted as that would be an illogical emotion," Spock replied easily and this time Kirk threw him a sharp look as well. He was able to read Spock even better than Uhura did and he could see the bond of affection the two Vulcans had for each other. He met Uhura's gaze briefly and she could see the Captain was as intrigued as she was.

"Kaiidth," she retorted and her lips twitched as his eyebrow rose.

"So ... Spock. Are you going to tell us how you and the young lady know each other?" Kirk interrupted, unable to reign in his curiosity any longer.

"We grew up together," Spock said noncommittally.

Kirk stared at Spock as if unable to believe that's all his Vulcan friend was going to tell him. Spock met his gaze evenly and remained completely impassive. At last the Captain sighed. "Alright, Spock, you win. How about we get dinner and join these two lovely ladies in their conversation?"

"Vulcans do not speak as they eat, Jim," If Uhura didn't know better she would have sworn that Spock was quite smug about this barrier to Kirk's attempt to pry into his private life.

T'Van cocked an eyebrow sharply. "Spock, you sound more like Sarek every year," she turned her gaze on Kirk, ignoring Spock's rising eyebrow. "Captain, I am quite familiar with Human customs," she replied with an air of amusement. "Therefore, I will talk to you over dinner."

Kirk grinned, as usual unable to resist a beautiful woman. "That's a deal, T'Van. And while I'm at the slots, can I get the ladies anything?"

"A salad and Altair water is acceptable, Captain."

"Well, if you're offering, I'll have a finger bowl with some warm water and lemon, and a napkin," Uhura said. "My fingers are killing me."

Kirk chuckled and, without waiting to see if Spock accompanied him, went in search of dinner.

* * *

Chapel didn't know what time it was when she made it back to her quarters, nor did she care. She was pulling off her shoes even as the door closed behind her and had stripped off her uniform before she reached her bedroom. She sighed, standing in the middle of her room in only her underwear, staring longingly at her bed. She shook herself. If she sat down, even for a moment, she wouldn't get back up again - and she really needed a shower.

She finished undressing, put on a robe, and gathered her toiletries before heading into the bathroom she shared with Uhura. There was no sign of the Communications Officer but the doctor wasn't surprised. It was late and she would have been more surprised if her friend had still been awake.

She didn't spend long in the shower, she was too tired. However, as she finished re-robing herself, Uhura walked into the bathroom. Chapel gave her a surprised look. The small Bantu woman was wearing what was, for her, rather drab pajamas and a pair of very fluffy slippers. "New look?" Chapel managed to grin, the shower having woken her up slightly.

Uhura looked down at herself and then smiled. "Everything else is being cleaned," she looked intently at Chapel. "We need to talk. Now."

Chapel gazed at her serious expression and sighed. "Sure, come on through," she turned and padded back into her bedroom. "Drink? Midnight snack?"

Uhura shook her head. "Not for me, go ahead and get something for yourself though."

Chapel contemplated raiding her secret and extremely non-regulation stash for a moment then decided she was too tired to fuss and flopped down on her couch. Uhura joined her; rather warily it seemed to Chapel.

"Nyota? What's wrong?"

Uhura couldn't meet her gaze and concentrated instead on finding a comfortable position on the couch, drawing her legs up to her chest, crossing her ankles and hugging her knees. Normally Chapel envied the smaller woman's ability to curl up so completely in chairs but now she was more concerned by Uhura's uncharacteristic unease. She leaned forward. "Nyota, spit it out. You're starting to worry me," her voice was soft.

Uhura frowned as she searched for the right way to open the subject. She hadn't been able to sleep for worrying about the situation and when she heard the shower had made the decision to raise the subject now, before she drove herself crazy over a situation she didn't even know for certain existed. She took a deep breath. _Just say it, Nyota, _she silently admonished herself. She leaned forward. "Chris, how are you these days? About Spock, I mean?"

Chapel's expression grew visibly wary as she studied Uhura. "What do you mean?"

"Well, I notice since this tour started that you two have been a lot closer than you were on the first tour. Everyone's noticed. Spock treats you the way he treats me or Scotty, or even Bones or the Captain." She trailed off and gave the doctor an intent look.

Chapel shrugged, trying to look noncommittal. "We were both on board before the official deadline. It was a slow two weeks so we did a lot of talking and somewhere down the road, I think we both put the past behind us and moved on. Now we're friends. Is that so bad, Nyota?"

Uhura smiled quickly, but it was strained. "Just friends?"

Chapel's jaw dropped. She stared at Uhura in disbelief for a moment, then her teeth snapped back together with an audible click. "What?" she said incredulously. "Don't tell me the grapev...!"

"No!" Uhura interrupted quickly. "No, the grapevine doesn't really discuss you two much anymore. It did initially, but then people got used to seeing you two together and it seemed innocent enough... and, well, people moved on to other topics."

"Then what..."

"Oh, Chris, are you still in love with him?"

Chapel sat straighter in her seat, expression growing grim. "Nyota, just _say_ what's on your mind, please!"

Uhura unfolded her legs and moved a bit closer, looking anxious now. "Chris, we both remember when Spock divorced T'Pring. We both know Vulcans well enough to know how their families arrange marriages, and we both found out the hard way that marriage is actually a lifesaver for Vulcan males..." she raised a hand as Chapel started to speak. "Yes I do know about _pon farr_, Chris, so don't start denying it. Just let me finish," she watched Chapel subside with a reluctant nod, then continued. "Anyway... oh God, there's no easy way to say this," she took Chapel's hand. "Look, the Vulcan passenger we've taken on board. Her name is T'Van. She and Spock know each other. I mean, _really_ know each other. They grew up together, they've... she's on board at Sarek's request, it wasn't an accident that the Rigellians asked us to take her to Vulcan, it was all arranged by the Ambassador," she trailed off watching her friend's face anxiously.

Chapel gazed at the Communications Officer steadily, there was no expression on her face that Uhura could readily discern and it bothered her. "You're telling me Sarek's chosen her to replace T'Pring?"

Uhura swallowed and nodded. "I think so. I wanted you to know, before you found out another way." _Like last time_. The thought echoed in her head but she didn't say it out loud.

Chapel nodded. She suddenly felt immensely tired and stifled a yawn behind her hand. "What's she like? T'Van, I mean?"

Uhura watched her anxiously and wondered if she should lie. But aside from looking sleepy, she couldn't see any strong emotional reaction in Chapel's face at all. She smiled sadly. "She's beautiful, intelligent... she even has a sense of humour, and she seems comfortable with Humans."

"You like her?"

"Yes, I do. I'm sorry, Chris."

Chapel smiled. "It's okay. It sounds like she'll be good for Spock. Maybe Sarek chose right this time."

Uhura was staring at her. "Chris, are you okay about this? If you want to talk..."

The doctor chuckled. "Right now, Nyota, I just want to sleep. I've had an absolutely hectic day and I've got an early shift tomorrow."

Uhura didn't move at the gentle hint. She looked her friend deep in the eyes. "You're not in love with him anymore?"

"We've got a good friendship. It's more than I could have ever hoped for on the first tour, mainly because I wanted more and he knew it. We both know he's never going to fall for a Human woman..." she paused, remembering Omicron Ceti III. "Well, not when in his right mind, anyway. I've got his respect as a peer and his loyalty as a friend. I think that's pretty good going for a girl like me, don't you?"

"Then you're really okay about this?"

Chapel smiled. "Get to bed, Nyota and stop worrying about me. I'm fine!" she rose to her feet and pointed to the door with a mock glare. "Shoo!"

Uhura rose as well, still searching her face. "Alright, but you know where to find me if..."

"Commander, scoot!"

Uhura finally laughed at the fake indignation on Chapel's face. "Yes, Lieutenant!" she grinned, heading towards the door. "Night, Chris."

"Night, Nyota," Chapel yawned again and shuffled off to bed. She changed into her nightdress and climbed into bed without a second thought about Uhura's news. She was asleep the moment her head hit the pillow.

* * *

The chime of the chronometer startled the ACMO so much that she dropped her datapads all over her lap. Hastily she gathered them up and looked at the time. _Where's the morning gone?_ she wondered in disbelief, stacking the pads and turning off the computer. She rose quickly and headed out of her office.

"I'm off for lunch," she said, poking her head around McCoy's door.

"You should be gone already," McCoy grouched back. "Get out of here."

Chapel smiled but didn't argue. She was supposed to be meeting Chekov in the rec room and she was already late. However, on entering the rec room, she found she was the first to arrive. A little surprised, she chose her meal and found a quiet place to sit down, where she wouldn't be overheard.

She scanned the room in that lazy manner of someone who didn't have anything else to do while eating and noticed two Vulcans sat on the opposite side of the room playing chess. As unobtrusively as possible, she studied the woman that had to be T'Van.

Neither too tall nor too short, the woman was slight of frame but clearly feminine. She seemed to favour a style that was a mixture of Terran and Vulcan. Chapel knew those fashions well; when she had been on Vulcan she had adopted similar fashion choices. Terran styles were not practical for the Vulcan climate and Vulcan clothing did not suit her. But there had been several hybrid styles that were as practical as the Vulcan dress and which were far more comfortable, psychologically, for her to wear. T'Van's hairstyle wasn't pure Vulcan either, gathered into a high, complicated arrangement on top of her head and spilling down her back like an obsidian waterfall. Chapel knew that Vulcan styles tended towards short hair or heavily bound hair to allow the back of the neck to breathe in the hot climate.

The doctor sighed before she could stop herself. Uhura had been right, T'Van was stunning. On looks alone, the young woman would have the attention of any man in her vicinity. Chapel glanced around the rec room. Sure enough, several men were throwing furtive looks in the Vulcan woman's direction. But she also had a natural poise and an almost aristocratic air to her that seemed purely unconscious and somehow familiar.

Chapel frowned to herself trying to pin down where she had seen the woman before but her attention was distracted by T'Van reaching across to pick up her drink. At the same moment, Spock moved one of the pieces. Briefly, their fingers brushed together before they completed their tasks, their attention returning to the board without a word having passed between them. She suddenly realised this wasn't the first contact she had seen between them either.

_They're communicating telepathically, _she realised and, at the same time she realised this, something slammed hard into her stomach. Bile welled up in her throat and she grabbed her drink, quickly swallowing a mouthful to drown the bitter taste. Shakily, she placed the glass down and turned to her food but she almost threw up again as she contemplated finishing it. Out of the corner of her eye, she thought she saw the two Vulcans brush fingers again.

Chapel didn't think. She knew she had to get out of there before she did something to betray herself. Quickly grabbing her tray, she took the half eaten meal to the dispenser and tossed everything, striding out of the room at the fastest pace she could manage without drawing attention to herself. She almost crashed into someone entering the room but didn't pause. She made it around the bend in the corridor and stopped, leaning against the walling and gasping.

"Chris?" Chekov's voice was at her shoulder. "Are you alright?"

_Oh god, not now!_ She thumped her chest and smiled wanly at Chekov. "Yeah, food down the wrong pipe. Made me choke." She prayed silently Chekov would accept the lie at face value and leave her alone.

He stared at her for a few minutes then nodded with a wry smile. "I will get my lunch then we can go to my office. Do you need a glass of water?"

"I'll be fine, Pavel. Thanks for asking," she straightened just wishing he'd leave so she could regain her composure. He nodded again. "Be right back," he said and hurried off to collect his food.

He barely noticed Spock as he entered, although like most of the men in the room he was intensely aware of T'Van. He could hear the conversation in the corner of the room, a group of ensigns speculating about the relationship between the two Vulcans and he did notice that T'Van's eyes were fixed on Spock's face with a peculiar intensity. Maybe there was something in it after all, he mused with a slight pang of regret. _What the hell do women see in him?_ He asked himself wryly and then chuckled to himself at the thought of the First Officer's face if he actually asked for pointers.

* * *

For her part, T'Van was puzzled by Spock. They had been engaged in an extremely challenging game of chess and she had been certain she would lose this match when Spock's attention suddenly seemed to waver. She did not fully understand the cause as he made an error of judgement that was most unlike him.

Quietly she reached for her drink, brushing his fingers almost imperceptibly. _You are distracted._

Spock studied her mutely for a moment. He neither confirmed nor denied her statement and returned his attention to the chess board. As they played, T'Van studied the room quietly, her attention briefly drawn to a tall, slim woman in science blue collecting her meal from a food slot. Finding the amazing blonde hair too compelling to ignore, she watched the Human woman make her way over to a distant table. As Spock reached out to move again, she touched him briefly again. _All this time among Humans. Blonde hair will forever distract me,_ she admitted and her lips twitched as she saw the startled look that appeared all to briefly in Spock's eyes.

_I do not understand,_ he responded. His thoughts were strangely closed off from her. It was not something she was used to and it intrigued her.

_It is so rare on Vulcan. Do you not find the phenotypic variation in Humans fascinating?_

Spock gazed at her uncertainly and she suddenly had the impression he was wary of her, as if trying to ascertain why she had asked the question. Hoping to gain more insight, she touched his fingers again but discovered nothing more. He was so adept at hiding his true self from others, even from her.

Then the blonde Lieutenant rose and left the room, moving with a grace of carriage that made T'Van pause and pay closer attention. That was when she noticed two things; firstly that the Lieutenant looked distressed and discarded an illogical amount of her dinner; and secondly, that Spock had just made another unusual error of judgement in his game strategy. She thought back swiftly to the timing of his first error and compared it to the timing of this one. One eyebrow rose sharply and she gazed intently into his face. _Fascinating_, she thought.

* * *

Chapel wasn't sure how she made it through the meeting with Chekov, nor was she sure how she made it through the rest of the day. Life seemed to pass her by as if she was separated from everyone else by a thin veil. People seemed to function in slow motion and voices, even hers, sounded as if they came from miles away. She performed her duties without thinking, she ate meals through force of habit, and she responded to conversations only automatically.

A decent night's sleep, however, proved therapeutic in the extreme. She awoke the following morning, alert and ready to address the important issues facing her in Sickbay. It was over breakfast that she realised what the problem was, what had caused her shock, what had subsequently brought her back into balance now.

Upon resolving the discomfort of the previous tour, the routine that she had developed with Spock had turned into a friendship. They had moved beyond the professional relationship of the past, into something that was more personal and much more comfortable. With that feeling firmly in mind, she had completely believed what she had told Uhura that night in her cabin - friendship was enough, nothing else mattered.

Then she had seen them together, the level of ease they had with each other, the intimacy. It was the intimacy that had unsettled her, she realised now. Something as simple as caressing fingers was a hugely intimate gesture for a species that refrained from touching except when necessary. For a race of touch telepaths, who could slip into each other's minds with the briefest of physical contact, it was an intimacy she, as a Human, could not truly comprehend.

It was something she could not compete with.

It was that sense of competition that had unsettled her. No matter what kind of friendship she established with the Vulcan, it would never be anything more than what a Human could offer. And that fell far short of what a Vulcan could offer. Did it fall far short of what a Vulcan needed?

Sleeping on the situation had helped bring things into perspective for the doctor. It had helped her remember that Spock had found what he needed in Starfleet, in a predominantly Human world. Even his mother had commented that he seemed more at home in Starfleet than at any time on Vulcan. Clearly, therefore, Vulcans fell far short of his needs as well. The odds had probably been stacked against Spock's family ever finding a Vulcan who could meet the needs of an individual as unique as Spock.

She couldn't help the pang of bitterness she felt at the thought but she understood where it came from. The loss of the status quo, the ability to ignore the majority of her feelings through the simple knowledge that they were friends, they were both single, and therefore the only people she had to share him with were other friends. It was something selfish, deep within her, which wanted him in the only way she could have him.

Recognising that had helped her consign it back into the black pit she chained those aspects of herself she wasn't proud of but which made her Human. Nobody was perfect, least of all herself. Everyone had thoughts and feelings they were ashamed of, and she was no different. And so she accepted that bitterness, controlled it and then locked it away where it could cause no mischief.

Over the next few days, she realised the grapevine was working overtime on the two Vulcans. They were comfortable with each other; they spent Spock's off-duty time together. Allegedly, T'Van even went to his room late in the evenings. Even Spock's closest friends were watching the pair with avid interest. It was with relief, however, that she realised this time she wasn't lying to herself. This time, she wasn't blindsided by emotions she had chosen to ignore and, as a result, she could get on with her life and her duties. Whatever else happened, she and Spock were friends now and that friendship was more valuable than a fantasy could ever be. The yearning would always be there - but she knew now that she could get on with her life without it controlling her.

Unfortunately, while decent sleep and ruthless honesty had worked wonders in helping her find equanimity with the situation, it did not seem to have had the same effect on her closest friends. They were watching her almost as closely as they were watching the two Vulcans. She wondered if that meant the gossip was discussing her, if the crew from the previous mission were dredging up old tales about the once-Head Nurse and the First Officer.

It was with shock that she realised the concern and unvoiced pity of her friends was much harder to handle than Spock's future with this Vulcan passenger. Uncertain of how to handle that situation, now aware her protestations of acceptance would not be believed, it was her friends she found herself avoiding - not Spock or T'Van. Eating her meals in private, working all hours in the lab, the less time she had to put up with the tension, the scrutiny, the better.

Four years ago, if someone had told her she could cope with Spock taking a wife but not with her friends' reactions to such an event, she would have laughed. Probably, she would have cried. Either way, she would not have believed it possible. Now, she knew it was absolutely true. So, she concentrated on her work, on resolving the conundrum that was Ensign Wylp, and found herself in the bizarre situation of finding her co-workers better company than her friends.

Even though she had been forced to exclude Wahler and Newman from the investigation. Fortunately, both men had been understanding. It defied belief that either one of them could have been involved in the Biolab sabotage - they had bent over backwards to find a cure for Wylp, and they had accepted their removal from the investigation with grace.

Somehow, their calm had made her feel like an ogre, as if what she was doing was unreasonable, even irrational. Even though she knew it was the right thing to do until their names were cleared.

That day of the fateful lunch, she had met with Chekov because the Security Chief had wanted to develop a plan of action for uncovering whatever it was about this investigation they were so far missing. Despite his own scientific experience, Chekov had not been as sympathetic to Medical's situation as she had initially hoped he would be. He had insisted she repeat the tests that Wahler and Newman had had access to again just in case the medical tests had also been sabotaged. She wasn't certain if it was because Chekov was new to the job and thus zealous or just a perfectionist. The scientist in her recognised and approved of Chekov's thoroughness, and even accepted the logic behind assuming the tests may well have been sabotaged. Nevertheless, the emotional part of her rebelled against the insane notion that anyone who had behaved with the decorum and dedication of these two men could be the saboteur.

So now she was spending all of her spare hours with the remainder of the pathology team, running and rerunning tests that had already been performed. They were all in the unenviable position of hoping for the repeated negatives that would prove Wahler and Newman's innocence, while also desperately hoping for a positive - something that could help them find a cure for the steadily deteriorating Andorian.

It was as though they were being asked to choose - between the innocence of two men and the life of a third.

The computer beeped, startling Chapel out of her ruminations. She rose from her seat and moved into the isolation chamber to recover the samples she had been preparing then settled down to analyse them, part of her mind returning to the consequences should the tests have been sabotaged. To the consequences should the tests have been accurate all along.

As a result, she almost missed it. Chapel had moved through three different sections before she realised what she was staring at. "Oh, my God," she breathed out loud, her excitement energising her in a way she hadn't felt since the biolab accident. Hurriedly, the doctor reclaimed the sections she had discarded, exploring them more carefully. It was there on every sample, at varying degrees of visibility. "Alright, Chekov!" she sighed in wry acceptance, setting them aside. Just as she rose to reach the comm, the computer whined and power went out, plunging the lab into darkness.

"What the...?" she muttered, looking around. She couldn't see a thing but she was so familiar with the Sickbay labs that she knew she could find her way to the comm interface. Turning to edge her way cautiously along the wall she froze as her skin tingled in that curious way that told her another warm body was close by. "Hello?" she asked, wondering who had come into the lab. Something bit her in the shoulder and she winced. "Ow!" she muttered rubbing her arm.

It was the last thing she remembered.

* * *

"How is she?"

Uhura and McCoy looked up as Kirk slipped down into a seat beside them. Uhura's dark eyes dropped down to her meal and she continued pushing food listlessly around her plate. McCoy raised his mug and hastily swallowed a large mouthful of something that could only tentatively be called liquid and which completely failed to smell like coffee.

"That good?" Kirk tried to lighten the tone but he could see no appreciation on either of their faces. He sighed. "It's definitely Spock then?"

Uhura glanced quickly off to the left but the rec room was busy today and Spock was not sitting close by. Kirk had not spoken loudly and she was certain the Vulcan could not overhear. Not with this level of ambient noise between the two tables.

"She's in the labs at all hours, she's taking double shifts. She won't leave Sickbay until I toss her out and I haven't seen her eat for days," McCoy gripped his mug tightly. He stared at his hands for a moment, willing his fingers to unfurl before the pressure broke the cup. The grip did not ease.

"I thought she was over him," Kirk murmured. "She certainly seemed to be."

Uhura bit her lip. "If I had known... she's such a terrible liar normally, Jim. I thought she was being honest!"

"It's not your fault, Commander," Kirk replied immediately.

"I told her," Uhura mumbled. "Of course it's my fault."

"You did the right thing, young lady," McCoy finally managed to release his mug. In his own way, he was as unable as Kirk to resist a beautiful woman in distress. He gently patted her hand. "I remember how she found out about T'Pring. You were right, darling," he patted her hand again. "You were _right._"

Uhura speared her food moodily and wished she could believe that.

Spock moved the knight up a level quietly and sat back, waiting for the computer to respond. His performance had been unsatisfactory and the computer would win this game. Logically, the differences between Vulcan and Human physiology were obvious to everyone on board this ship but somehow they never seemed obvious enough. Humans continued to underestimate Vulcan sensory capability. Over the past few days he had become aware of the rumours that were circulating about himself and T'Van and the conversation he had overheard at Uhura's table confirmed to him that Chapel must have heard them too.

His eyes darkened as the computer spoke its move and he reached out to retaliate with his pre-planned tactic. His Human friends thought Doctor Chapel's feelings for him still existed. He had not been certain for she had conducted herself with great decorum when in his presence. While she had always behaved professionally on the first tour, when not robbed of her control or dignity, on this tour, she had seemed much more relaxed and open.

He preferred this version of Christine Chapel. He did not want to lose this new relationship to the formal, professional tension that had existed two years previously. If the concerns of Lieutenant Commander Uhura and Doctor McCoy were correct - and they knew Chapel better than anyone else on board - then the damage might be irreparable.

He found that knowledge distracting.

He picked up a pawn, contemplating how best to proceed to correct the situation, when the comm came to life.

_"Sickbay to Doctor McCoy."_

The CMO sighed and pushed himself to his feet to flip the comm. "McCoy here."

_"Doctor, we need you in Sickbay immediately,"_ the Ensign's voice wavered slightly. _"It's Doctor Chapel, sir. She's in a coma."_

For a single heartbeat, McCoy stood frozen, then he dropped his hand from the comm panel and ran from the room, Kirk and Uhura only a step behind him. The CMO was shouting demands even as he walked through Sickbay's doors, his companions forgotten. They stood by a wall out of the way as he charged across to the biobed that supported Chapel's still form and even from this distance, Uhura could see how white her friend's face was, how lifeless she looked.

_Not lifeless,_ she quickly amended, watching the monitors anxiously. She didn't fully understand them and couldn't read them properly at this distance anyway but they were moving, which meant Chapel was still alive. A technician hurried past them then stopped suddenly as a commanding voice halted him. "Ensign, explain."

It wasn't Kirk's voice. Uhura looked up, saw Kirk turn sharply. Neither of them had noticed Spock had accompanied them down to Sickbay. Now he stood in the doorway, blocking the technician's route and holding the Ensign's attention with a steely brown gaze. The technician swallowed, unsettled by how completely the Vulcan was focused on him.

"Nurse Atkins found Doctor Chapel collapsed on the floor in Medlab 2. She's stable but they don't know what's caused it. Her physicals show she was healthy before this happened."

"Is her coma life-threatening?"

Something inside the Ensign recoiled at the question. There was no discernable emotion in the First Officer's face or voice but some instinct, something akin to self-preservation, was telling him to back away from his superior officer now before it was too late. "I don't know, Commander," he muttered, praying silently the Vulcan would be satisfied and let him go.

The Vulcan was not satisfied but forcibly reminded himself it was not this technician's fault that he could not answer the question. It had been an illogical question to ask and yet he had been unable to stop himself. He stepped aside and, with an audible sigh of relief, the Ensign hurried on.

He turned back to watch the activity around Chapel silently, aware of the thoughtful look Kirk threw him but discarded the knowledge as irrelevant. He could feel his mind begin to function once more but his thoughts churned with questions. Was she more exhausted than McCoy had indicated? Had her health deteriorated so far in only a week? Had she caught some illness? If so, were any other members of the crew affected? Had she been working on an experiment that had gone wrong?

Had the Biolab saboteurs struck again?

The Vulcan felt as though he was rooted to the spot, his limbs seemed unusually heavy and he wondered if there was a problem with the gravity control system. If so, the gravity was presently heavier than Vulcan norm. He was preparing to move towards the intercom to raise Scott and ask him for an update when he realised McCoy was standing in front of Kirk.

The shock of not having been aware of McCoy's approach or of the time that had elapsed since arriving in Sickbay until this moment, brought the life and sensation back to Spock's body. The first thing he realised was that the gravity was still Earth-normal. The second thing he realised, as he mechanically followed the group into McCoy's office, was that he finally understood what Humans meant when they referred to 'the weight of emotion.'

His emotions. For a moment, he thought his Human heritage was taking advantage of his weakness until it occurred to him that his Vulcan half was still in control. He sank into the depths of his mind seeking the stability of control and the ingrained mantras of logic, irrationally wishing it was the legacy of his mother's people causing his current dilemma. His Human half was capable of embarrassing and humiliating displays but, on a ship full of Humans, it could be controlled - by his Human companions if not always by himself. The violence and chaos his pre-Reformation instincts would unleash if he allowed them to surface, however, would bring only pain and grief to his colleagues and friends.

He wondered if they could ever appreciate how dangerous Vulcans were when provoked. The two men standing inside this room did. But Kirk had nearly died before they were able to understand. The Vulcan's eyes turned towards those two men as he was finally able to refocus on his surroundings again. McCoy was only just slumping into his seat, the hiss of the doors only just closing behind him. His internal chronometer calculated the time that had passed during his struggle to master himself. How could 27.3 seconds feel like eternity?

"What's going on, Bones?" Kirk leaned up against the desk. He didn't like the look on the CMO's face.

McCoy lifted tired eyes and studied the faces of his three companions. Uhura was one of Chapel's closest friends, sometimes it seemed they couldn't possibly be closer if they had been born sisters. McCoy had never been able to pin down the relationship between Kirk and Chapel, however. She called him "Captain," he called her "Chris" but he did that with everyone. Everyone for whom his feelings were innocent, anyway. The doctor was fully aware that the only two women Kirk had ever maintained a level of verbal formality with had been Janice Rand and Nyota Uhura. He didn't think Kirk had been truly in love with either woman but his feelings did seem to run a little too deep. Deep enough for Kirk to go to unusual trouble to maintain his professionalism in their presence.

His mind shied away from memories of Edith Keeler and Miramanee, even as he turned his attention to Spock with a scowl. It was the Vulcan's presence here that bothered him. Like everyone else, he had noticed the change in the relationship between the First Officer and ACMO from the professional detachment of the first tour into something the doctor had to admit looked like a real friendship now. There was nothing official to report to the First Officer yet, so maybe he was here as a friend, McCoy mused silently. Like Uhura and Kirk. Then he looked a little harder at the distracted Vulcan. _In a pig's eye,_ he decided, suddenly determined to delve a little deeper into the origins of this new friendship.

Right now, however, there were more important things to worry about. He sighed heavily. "The good news is her life isn't in danger."

Uhura swallowed at his tone. "And the bad news, Doctor?"

"I can't say the same thing about her mind."

"Explain," Spock's tone was clipped. McCoy stared hard at him again and this time the Vulcan locked gazes with him. _No help this time_, and the doctor heard himself sigh in exasperation.

"Isn't impatience illogical, Mr. Spock?" he asked acidly.

"Doctor McCoy, if we were to wait for you to report your findings according to your customary speed, Starfleet would cease to function," Spock retorted immediately.

"You know, Spock, I swear you'd argue with a fence post given a chance."

"That would be illogical, Doctor."

"Even a Vulcan has fleas," the CMO snapped.

The Vulcan's eyebrows hit his hairline so hard McCoy almost heard the impact. "I assure you, Doctor, I do not suffer parasitic infestations of any obligatory haematophagic species."

"Alright, that's enough," Kirk interjected sharply. He glared at them both until they visibly subsided. He was familiar with them using each other to deflect tension or uncomfortable emotions but there had been a real menace to this exchange that he had never before heard. He turned to the doctor. "Bones, explain what the problem with her mind is."

The CMO growled in frustration and swung around to face his Captain. "Dopamine reduction, widespread synaptic degradation, localised neural over-stimulation. At first it looked like it was Alterian Encephalitis, but that didn't fit her medical history, and the rest of the symptoms don't fit either," his eyes narrowed at Kirk then he turned to jab angrily at his computer. A moment later, he swung the monitor around to face the others.

On the display were two images positioned side by side, two brain scans. Kirk looked at McCoy. "What am I looking at, Bones? Besides the obvious that is."

McCoy was about to respond but he paused as Spock leaned forward for a closer look. For a moment, the Vulcan's brow almost furled into a slight frown. One eyebrow visibly rose. "Images of Doctor Chapel's brain wave activity? These look like two different individuals."

McCoy nodded. "Healthy," he tapped the image on the right. "Current," he tapped the image on the left. "And you're right, Spock. Her brain wave pattern is shifting. It's like someone's rewiring her brain. In fact," and here he scowled fiercely. "If I didn't know any better, I'd be reminded of the artificial neural pathway reformatting that was made illegal during the Eugenics Wars."

"Is this what caused her coma?" Uhura interjected.

"Yes. And if it continues, the woman who wakes up won't be Christine Chapel anymore."

Kirk gave him a sharp look "Explain that, Bones."

McCoy gestured at the images in disgust, then rose abruptly. He looked like a man who wanted to pace but the small office space was not large enough to accommodate him. "What is a man but the sum of his memories? Don't answer, Jim, it's rhetorical," he sighed heavily. "There's more to our personality than genetics, Jim. We are literally the sum of our experiences, environment... our life. Memory loss can alter a person's personality significantly if it removes defining experiences from the person's life that helped shape who they had become. It's the same here. Memory is biochemistry. Mess with that and you change a person's memories and if you change a person's memories... you change who the person is."

"Most of the changes so far occur in the frontal, parietal and temporal lobes," Spock mused thoughtfully.

McCoy glared at him but his voice was calm when he spoke. "Mainly the prefrontal cortex, sensory association cortex and auditory association area."

Spock lifted his gaze to meet the doctor's angry stare. "That is very specific," he observed quietly.

"I noticed," the CMO's voice was sour. "I'd like to know why and to what end myself."

"Indeed."

"Doctor, what could cause this to happen?" Uhura looked bewildered. "Brains don't start rewiring themselves overnight, even I know that."

McCoy sighed and slumped back into his seat. "Well, you're right there. We're looking for evidence of microscopic bugs."

Uhura looked uncomprehending for a moment, then her dark eyes widened slowly. "That would mean..."

"Yes," McCoy said grimly.

"Will that be easy to fix, if that's what it is I mean?"

McCoy gave her a tired look. "The brain is a delicate organ. There are no guarantees," he sighed heavily and his eyes lowered to his hands. "If that's what we're dealing with, I may need help from Engineering to mend what's been done to her."

"Keep me updated, Bones." As Kirk turned to leave, McCoy's voice called him back.

"Where the devil are you going now?"

"To talk to Mr. Chekov," the Captain replied. "If she's been infected with nanites, someone must have put them there. It'll be our first direct evidence of attempted murder."

"Not necessarily, Jim."

The Captain froze then turned around slowly. "Why not, Mr. Spock?"

The Vulcan arched an eyebrow. "The evidence suggests that the attack is designed to fundamentally alter her brain chemistry. That requires living brain tissue, meaning the purpose of this attack would not be to kill."

"Then what is its purpose, Spock?"

"Unknown."

"Irrelevant," McCoy snapped. "The Christine Chapel we know will be dead, regardless of whether her body's still alive. It's murder by any other name."

Spock's gaze shifted to the CMO. "The distinction will not be irrelevant in a court of law, Doctor."

McCoy was back on his feet again, glaring at the Vulcan. "Spock, I don't give a damn what a court of law would think about the matter. I'm a doctor, not a lawyer. And, as a doctor, I'm telling you that the woman we know _will_ be dead if we can't reverse what's been done to her."

"In that case, Bones, I suggest you and Spock quit arguing so you can get on with it," Kirk told him dryly. He waited for the pair of them to both subside and nod their agreement with his demand, then he turned on his heel and strode out of the door.

This new mission was getting off to an abysmal start.

* * *

There was a whisper of sound on the edge of his hearing. He paused, suddenly alert but it faded away. Moments later, it was back. Just in the distance, just beyond ken. Once more he stopped to listen. Straining his senses, he moved forward at a cautious pace, trying to identify the sound he was unable to ignore. It was alien and yet familiar. Uncertain how to resolve this discrepancy, he continued around a bend in the corridor...

...and found himself standing in a town square, surrounded by people. He came to a full stop. The whisper had risen to a roar, a roar of sounds, voices all around him - laughing, crying, shouting, talking, idle conversations, private conversations, business dealings. He remained still, observing the people around him. Except for himself and a few others, the people were Humans and he was on Earth watching them going about their daily lives. There was nothing unusual about this scene at all.

Except a moment ago he had been walking down the corridors towards Science on a starship that was currently located only five days from the Vulcan solar system.

He turned to look at the route he had come by but it was impossible to tell where he had come from. He stood alone, in the centre of one of the busiest cities on Earth, in his Commander stripes and Science blue. And he wasn't alone because this was San Francisco, the home of Starfleet Headquarters.

A flash of something out of the corner of his eye made him turn but when he looked it was gone. There it was again. Swifter this time, he turned sharply and saw a tall slim woman in Science blue standing in the crowd, her blonde hair gleaming like molten metal in the midday sunshine. She had never looked more beautiful. Or more lost.

"Doctor Chapel?" he asked curiously.

She turned slowly, looking around herself, a vacant, glazed expression in her china blue eyes. Her lips moved as if she was speaking but he heard no words. She wasn't responding to him, however, that much he could tell. She didn't even know he was there. Quickly he began to move towards her. "Doctor!" he raised his voice slightly, hoping she would hear or see him.

His route was interfered with as people moved across his path. No-one jostled him as he moved, in fact no-one seemed to notice his presence at all but he lost sight of Doctor Chapel. He stopped again.

"Christine!"

There she was, moving vaguely off to the one side, away from him, eyes darting around her in confusion. Someone jostled her, sending her spinning. He picked up his pace, hoping to reach her before the surging crowd harmed her. He had never seen her so witless, so vulnerable. What was wrong with her?

The crowd was swelling as people poured out from one of the large accounting firms searching for an outdoor lunch in the bright Summer sunshine, and Chapel was jostled again. Her mouth moved once more and he could see her flinch in pain. The crowd was hurting her, she had cried out, and yet she had said not a word.

Rage surged within, startling him and lending strength to his lean frame. He sliced through the crowd as if they were not there, heading towards her in a straight line but she was dragged from view by the momentum. For a moment, her eyes seemed to find his and, for the second time, he was frozen into stillness. This time by the terrible fear in her gaze. Before he could move towards her, or call out to reassure her, the crowd surged a final time and she was gone. He turned frantically, trying to push his way through to the last place he had seen her, but this time he was jostled violently to the ground. Something struck the side of his face and pain lanced through his temples.

There was nothing but blackness. Spock sat up abruptly, looking around but the crowd was gone. He was in his quarters, in his bed and alone. For several moments he remained completely still, concentrating on his breathing. His head ached around his temples and he lifted his hand to his meld points, touching the skin lightly where it throbbed. _There is no pain,_ he told himself sternly, and a moment later the headache was gone.

"Computer, lights," he ordered and was already on his feet by the time the computer responded. He walked over to his desk and sat down in front of his computer. A dream then. It was known to happen to him occasionally. It wasn't the kind of dream he had any experience with. He had not been interacting, he had been watching. Watching Chapel lost among strangers, torn away from him by an unpredictable crowd. Sensation flooded through him. Fear, loneliness, confusion, pain... so much fear.

He was dressed and half way to Sickbay before he regained conscious awareness of his actions. He caught a glimpse of himself in a mirror as he strode into Sickbay. The professional, unperturbable Vulcan First Officer, pacing into the room with a regal stride and not a hair out of place.

He was not as calm as he looked.

Spock came to a stop at the foot of Chapel's bed and studied her. Face pale, reposed, body so still except for the faint, gentle rhythm he could see in the base of her neck. He looked at the monitors above her. She looked so peaceful. As if asleep.

And alone.

He knew it was illogical. He did not know what had triggered the dream or what had driven him to Sickbay. He did not understand what he was experiencing as he studied her unconscious form now. He did not comprehend why the regal beauty of her stillness now filled him with the sensation of fear. He did not understand where these emotions were coming from. They did not feel like his and yet they were within him, exactly where he would expect to his emotions to be. He should return to his quarters and meditate on this situation immediately. He was a Vulcan and not in a fit state to be seen. He needed to regain his centre. It was the logical thing to do.

Instead, he pulled up a chair and sat down beside her, leaning forward slightly. "Christine, I am here. You are not alone," his voice was a murmur and she was unconscious. It was the most irrational decision he could have made given the circumstances.

And yet he knew with absolute certainty it was the right thing to do.

* * *

The insistent beeping invaded the Vulcan's thoughts as he entered Sickbay and he immediately noticed the frenzy of activity in ICU. Kirk and Scott were standing in the doorway watching the chaos anxiously and Chekov was sat at the CMO's terminal. One eyebrow raised, he left the Captain and Second Officer to their private worries and entered the office.

"Mr. Spock," Chekov greeted him barely looking up.

"Ensign Wylp's condition has deteriorated?"

The Security Chief sighed and nodded. "It does not look good this time," he gestured to the monitor where he was studying Chapel's hyperencephalograms. "What do you think?"

Spock's gaze was steady. "It is unwise to discuss this with me, Lieutenant."

Chekov sighed "It's alright, Mr. Spock. I've ruled you out," he looked at the polite curiosity on the Vulcan's face and managed to smile. "I have you to thank for helping me narrow the search down," his smile turned into a grin as the expected eyebrow shot up. "I've reviewed the tapes of the lab Doctor Chapel was found in. She was redoing the tests Wahler and Newman originally performed. She saw something that made her excited but just as she stood up, all power went out in the lab. Even the surveillance went off. When power came back on, she was lying unconscious on the floor and the samples she had been studying were destroyed." He quickly keyed instructions into the terminal and Spock took a seat opposite him, watching as the information changed to what initially appeared to be an inventory report. Closer inspection corrected that assumption.

"Fascinating," Spock murmured eventually. "Doctor Chapel's organisational approach is most Vulcan."

Chekov grinned. "I'll take that as a compliment, Mr. Spock," he waited for the eyebrow then continued, still smiling. "I asked Doctor Chapel to log with me a report of all the tests that needed to be re-evaluated, when she was performing them, and when she would be making the final analysis. It's a habit I picked up from you when I was working for Science on the last tour. We do not have the samples she made the breakthrough on but we know exactly what time she lost consciousness from the power shortage and we know exactly what she was testing for at that time because of these records," he scrolled through the inventory and highlighted a specific section. "Artificial disassembling of the SNARE complex in Ensign Wylp's brain. The tests were worked on by Nurse Wahler, Lieutenant Newman and Nurse Atkins. They came back negative before but if what I see on the surveillance footage is anything to go by then those initial results were wrong."

"The disassembling is initiated by nanotechnology?"

"Exactly, Mr. Spock. And the reason we didn't realise it beforehand is because certain tests were being sabotaged to interfere with the investigation. Only three people were in a position to sabotage those tests."

Spock reflected on that for a moment. "Lieutenant Newman has the engineering expertise to sabotage Biolab 1 but Nurses Wahler and Atkins do not."

Chekov nodded seriously. "If one of them was responsible, they did not work alone. The only person with the required expertise who has used Biolab 1 since we left spacedock is Lieutenant Summers."

Spock raised an eyebrow. "How many level 5 diagnostics have been conducted on the force field generators in Biolab 1 since we left Earth?"

Chekov leaned forward and searched through his information in silence. "Two," he said eventually. "One the day before we left spacedock, the second a week later."

"Were they conducted remotely or manually?"

"The first was manually, the second was remotely, from Engineering."

Spock steepled his fingers in front of his face. "Then it is possible the nanotechnology was installed during the manual diagnostic and activated during the second."

Chekov nodded. "Mr. Scott believes that is the case. We investigated the engineering team that performed each diagnostic. It was the same team both times. And was the team that was taken to Sickbay when the forcefield failed."

"It is logical to assume the saboteur is one of the engineers."

Chekov stretched slightly. "And one of the engineers must have a connection to Newman, Atkins or Wahler," he shook his head. "But if there is one, it is not easy to find." He suddenly looked up at Spock with a smile. "But at least you and Mr. Scott are no longer suspects."

"Then I will assist your inquiry," Spock stood up. Chekov nodded once and rose with him.

As the pair exited McCoy's office they paused beside Kirk and Scott, looking into ICU. "What is the situation?" the First Officer asked.

The grim looks on both faces told him all he needed to know but Kirk answered anyway. "He's dead," the Captain confirmed with a bitter sigh. "Bones said he just shut down. Breathing, heart, you name it. He's taking a closer look at the damage but so far the damage in his brain is looking a lot like what's happening to Chris."

The Vulcan stared through screen into the room beyond for a few moments. Although his stomach churned at the knowledge, the implication, his features were expressionless. "Understood, Jim," he turned, nodded to Chekov and marched out of the room without another word.

* * *

Chekov glanced to his left, shook his head and headed over the food slot. There was no doubt about it, Spock was not part Vulcan, he was part machine. Upon leaving Sickbay after Kirk's grim message, they had headed straight for the Security Office. Once there, they had activated privacy mode, tied in with the First Officer's personnel databases and not looked back.

For hours they had referenced, cross-referenced and even cross-referenced the cross-references, trying to find a clue as to who exactly was involved, how and why. Chekov had gone through three coffees and he didn't even like caffeine. He was also in danger of wearing a hole in the carpet with all the pacing. The young officer had picked up many habits on the first tour from the command crew and, like Kirk, sometimes he had a tendency to pace.

Now the Security Chief was finally reaching the end of his stamina, his eyes were aching and his head throbbed. He was starting to forget what they were researching. He ordered another coffee then spotted the time. For a moment he stared, then he turned back to the food slot and changed his order to a black coffee. _Eleven hours? _No wonder he was exhausted! He let the aroma filter past his sinuses and shake up his brain slightly as he watched Spock.

The Vulcan had not raised his head in two hours. Probably longer. He had barely spoken in that time either. Chekov was used to long, silent research sessions with the First Officer but the only times he had seen Spock this driven had been during times of crisis - missing crew members, planetary catastrophe, battle stations. The ship had one crewmember dead, another comatose and multiple injuries; a saboteur who had only struck twice and a compelling mystery. Chekov knew Spock well enough to know the Vulcan cared more for the crew than he would ever admit - even to himself - but his determination still had the power to surprise the Russian.

"Since I'm up, do you need anything?" his voice sounded loud to his own ears. The silence had pervaded the room for so long.

"Not at this time, Lieutenant," the Vulcan didn't even raise his head.

Chekov frowned and moved back across to the terminal. "Mr. Spock. We've been doing this for eleven hours ..." he checked the time again, "... and thirty-two minutes. It is illogical not to eat or drink something."

This time Spock did raise his head. He glanced at the chronometer, an act which in itself surprised Chekov. Spock usually knew the time without needing to double-check artificial sources. Then he rose and moved towards the foodslot. Chekov expected the Vulcan to come back with something innocuous like Altair water. His superior officer's actions again surprised him when he returned with Tarkelian tea.

He managed a small smile as the Vulcan resumed his seat. "Isn't that a bit on the strong side for a man who's still on duty?"

Spock arched an eyebrow. "It is a drink Doctor Chapel introduced me to. I have observed many members of the crew partake of such beverages when requiring artificial stimulation during extended shifts."

Chekov tried not to smile at the Vulcan's coy confession to being tired. "So what have you found out?" he asked instead.

"Lieutenants Grabosky and Newman are both civilians who entered Starfleet later than usual. Newman was a physicist and engineer who was recruited by Starfleet Medical when they began to experiment with his microelectronic research. Grabosky was a civilian engineer who has worked on space docks for Earth and Mars. His work at Utopia Planetia is how he achieved his assignment here. In both cases, the _Enterprise_ is their first assignment outside the Terran solar system. Grabosky has worked with Lieutenant Prescott prior to this mission, who was posted to Utopia Planetia for two years, but Prescott completed his Academy training on the _Saratoga_ and was later assigned to the _Carolina_."

He paused, scanning the computer records he had created. "Nurse Wahler has been mostly assigned space station and planetside work. However, he has worked in the medical facilities at Utopia Planetia while Lieutenants Grabosky and Prescott were stationed there. Lieutenant Summers was born to an engineering family that worked on freighters involved in the spice trade and has spent his entire life in space. He joined Starfleet Academy at the age of 17, completed his training on the _Constellation_ and has since been assigned various engineering positions on the _Invincible_, _Cortez_ and _Yorktown_. He was also highly decorated during a tour on board the _Victory_."

Chekov sighed. "Nurse Atkins is fresh from the Academy, she's never even been in space before this posting," he glanced at his monitor. "Wylp and Thalit had fairly normal upbringings for Andorians. Raised on Andoria, in different provinces. They didn't go through the Academy at the same time either, Thalit completed his training two years before Wylp came to Earth. Thalit went through postings on the _Midway_, _Yorktown_ and _Beaver_, and Wylp has served on the _Beachy Head_ and _Fesoan Prime_. It would seem they met when the _Fesoan Prime_ was badly damaged during an unspecified conflict with an Orion ship and was towed to Argelius II. The _Beaver_ was on shoreleave there and took the surviving crew back to Earth for debriefing ..." he stopped as Spock arched an eyebrow.

"Lieutenant, on what date did this conflict occur?"

Chekov leaned forward and scrolled through his information. "Stardate 3138.2. They put into orbit around Argelius II on 3139.5," he looked up. "Is that relevant?"

Spock wasn't looking at him, he was staring at the computer. "The _Carolina_ was also in orbit around Argelius II for recreational reasons during that timeframe. They also recorded taking damage from Orion aggression."

Chekov frowned as Spock's fingers continued to dance across the console. "So Red, Wylp and Thalit could all have met then?"

There was hesitation from Spock, and it took Chekov a moment to realise that the Vulcan was processing the identity of 'Red'. He was about to clarify Prescott's nickname, when Spock nodded. "Indeed," his gaze didn't rise from his study of the monitor. "Lieutenant Summers and Ensign Thalit might also know each other. They both served on board the _Yorktown_."

Chekov checked the notes. "But this means Wylp, Thalit, Summers, Red, Grabosky and Wahler have potentially all known each other prior to this assignment. And we can't find any previous connections to Newman or Atkins," he sighed. "I guess we have narrowed it down a bit."

Spock didn't answer, his hands were busy again, eyes scanning the terminal intently. He was looking for something. Chekov waited, sipping his coffee to keep his brain active. Eventually the Vulcan raised his head. "I have cross-referenced incidents between all suspected crewmembers and the Orions."

"Wylp, Thalit and Red. Anyone else?"

"Indeed. Nurse Wahler was stationed at Space Station K-5 when it was attacked by Orions, 3.23 months before their attack in the Argelius system. Lieutenant Summers has familiarity with Orions as a result of his upbringing."

Chekov rubbed his forehead wearily. "Are we really tying Orions into this?"

"There is no evidence to suggest Orion involvement at this time," Spock responded immediately.

"But we investigate that anyway?"

"Indeed. If we cannot eliminate the data as irrelevant it would be illogical to ignore it."

"Of course," Chekov muttered and turned once more to his terminal to follow a new line of inquiry.

* * *

Captain Kirk conducted a simple service for Wylp. The officers wore dress uniform, his closest friends and Mr. Scott each spoke highly of the Ensign's dedication to duty and passionate nature. Chekov found himself watching the recovering engineers intently. Most of them seemed to be in shock that their friend had died, however. Only Thalit stood rigidly to attention, almost as emotionless as the Vulcan First Officer. The Security Officer wasn't too suspicious by this behaviour, however. He knew Andorians too well, knew their passionate nature could so overwhelm them that the Humans around him would be in danger. Andorian funerals were violent affairs by Human standards and the two security men flanking the Andorian now were there at Thalit's own request. The gym had been isolated on Doctor McCoy's orders for Thalit to release his emotions later in private without any danger of harm coming to the rest of the crew.

Wylp's body was not released into space in the manner his Human friends would have understood. Thalit had asked for Andorian tradition to be honoured and the body was prepared and lying in stasis. As soon as possible, his body would be returned to Andoria and his family for private arrangements to be made. Thalit had not elaborated on what those traditions were. Apparently he had felt the knowledge would shock the Humans too much.

The service was conducted smoothly and nothing happened to give Chekov any clues as to who among the suspects had been responsible.

* * *

"Standard orbit, Helm," Kirk ordered curtly but he knew Sulu was already doing just that.

"Aye, sir." To the Helm Officer's credit, he controlled most of his amusement as the Captain pensively studied the red planet that dominated the viewscreen and the other Constitution-class vessel off their bow.

"Uhura, hail the _Long Beach_," he said softly.

"Aye, Captain," she turned to her console and moments later the Captain of the _Long Beach_ was gazing at Kirk from his seat.

"Jim, you're just in time for dinner, how about your command staff beams aboard and joins us?"

For a moment Kirk didn't answer then, face carefully neutral, he rose from his seat. "My place is bigger, Jack, how about you join us over here?"

"Twenty minutes?"

"Fine. Kirk out." Kirk waited for the channel to close before hitting his comm and sounding general quarters. "Senior officers to Briefing Room 1." He lifted his head and scanned the bridge. "Lieutenant Kyle, you have the Bridge," he stalked off to the turbo lift, ignoring the silence. He knew his abruptness bordered on rude but the closer they had come to Vulcan, the shorter his temper had become. Uhura, Sulu and Spock joined him and they rode the rest of the way to the briefing room without speaking.

By the time the officers were assembled in the briefing room, Captain Martin and his officers had beamed across and joined them. Once they were all seated, Kirk didn't waste time on niceties. "Alright, Jack, what's going on?"

"Did you get the information we sent to the _Bainbridge_?" Martin asked immediately.

"Yes. It all seems routine. There's no explanation for why you've been stuck in orbit here for the past four months."

Martin shook his head and the muscles in his forehead started to bulge. "I swear it, Jim. I used to think I got on well with Vulcans, but recently all I've wanted to do is strangle the lot of them. For starters, they're not being straight with us. The High Council is running rings around us. They won't let us beam down planetside and the highest ranking Vulcan we've been able to speak with has been some kind of minor paper-pusher. I'd rather deal with Klingons than this bureaucratic farce!"

Kirk pursed his lips. "How did it start? Did your crew have a falling out with the Vulcan scientists on board?"

"Mick?"

Martin's First Officer sighed. "There was the usual tension that tends to happen when you put Vulcans and Humans on board the same ship. They considered us emotional, we considered them irrationally logical. But it was nothing unusual. Nothing our two planets haven't been dealing with since First Contact, and for the most part, I think we put our differences behind us. Unlike the Captain, most of us have only heard of Vulcans and haven't dealt directly with them. From the scientists who beamed aboard, I got the impression that not many Vulcans deal directly with Humans either. Once we all got used to how the other side did things, we worked well together. By the time we were returning to Vulcan most of us were ready to call the Vulcans on that team friends," he smiled wearily at the memory. "Not that I'm sure Vulcans would even understand friendship. It seems like a bit of an informal concept for them."

"Vulcans take friendship very seriously," Kirk told him. "They seem to think we're the ones who don't understand what it means." Despite the situation he had to smile at the reaction the _Long Beach_ crew displayed to that idea. A moment later his smile faded. "So what happened?"

Martin sighed and picked it up. "We didn't get any warning. We arrived in Vulcan space, signalled to the Academy we would be in orbit shortly, and the next thing we knew, we were being hailed by the High Council itself and told we were to take up standard orbit and remain there until further instructed. When we asked about shore leave while we waited, we were politely but firmly informed shore leave would not be permitted. When I asked if anything was wrong, I was told to stand by. I ended up "standing by" for three days before I lost my temper. In retrospect, that was probably a bad move. I've noticed that Vulcans seem to become stubborn in the face of emotional outbursts," he sighed again. "The Vulcan science team had to beam down immediately and we've had no contact with the Academy since. We can only get minor administrators to talk with us; all they'll say is that an investigation is in process into the survey of the Apulu Rose Nebula and we have to stand by until we are asked to contribute."

"And what does Starfleet have to say about this?" Scott demanded.

"Their diplomats are talking to Vulcan's diplomats, but as far as I can tell it's going around in circles. Starfleet's main angle into Vulcan has usually been through the Vulcan Ambassador but even he's not talking to Earth right now."

Kirk considered for a moment, then swung around to face Spock. "Thoughts, Spock?"

The Vulcan was silent for several moments then pressed the comm. "Spock to T'Van. Report to Briefing Room 1," he folded his hands quietly, not waiting for a response, and arched an eyebrow at his Captain. "I submit her response to that question will be more useful than mine."

Kirk eyed him narrowly. "I refuse to believe you don't have an opinion on this, Spock."

"An opinion without facts is illogical."

"Facts?! You think there aren't any facts?!" Martin's Second Officer suddenly seemed to erupt at the Vulcan.

"Ken..." Martin began quietly.

"I'll list the _facts_ off to you if you like! Starting with the _fact_ that your goddamn bureaucratic circus seems to have a completely illogical objection to Humans being in space!"

"Lieutenant Commander Ashby that will be all!" Martin snapped, his voice echoing around the briefing room.

The Second Officer sat back, face red and knuckles white as his hands balled into fists at his side. "Yes, _Captain_," he said tightly, still glaring at the very silent Spock.

The doors slid open to reveal the graceful form of T'Van. She paused momentarily on sensing the tension then completed her journey into the room and took the seat Kirk offered.

Kirk looked at Martin. "This is T'Van. We picked her up from a Rigellian freighter and are escorting her back to Vulcan. Apparently it was arranged by Ambassador Sarek. Exploiting loopholes to help us," he grinned as Spock raised a disapproving eyebrow.

The _Long Beach_ crew studied her. Even Ashby's anger drained slightly to be replaced by curiosity. Kirk turned to her as well. "T'Van, this is Captain Jack Martin of the _Long Beach_. His First Officer, Lieutenant Commander Mick Braxton and his Second Officer, Lieutenant Commander Ken Ashby. Could you please tell them what you came aboard to tell us?"

She inclined her head to Kirk and quickly informed them of the information Sarek had passed on to her. In return, Kirk filled her in on what the _Long Beach_ had told them.

Ashby shook his head in disgust. "I knew it. Vulcans are just as racist and intolerant as they claim we are."

T'Van lifted both eyebrows. "Denial of IDIC does not support the teachings of Surak. Unfortunately, facts are only as useful as the context to which they refer and Vulcans are capable of using logic to illogical ends."

They all studied her curiously. "I never thought I'd ever hear a Vulcan say that, T'Van." McCoy admitted, the first to speak.

Her dark eyes turned to him gravely. "Vulcans are no more perfect than Humans, Doctor." She turned to Kirk. "Captain, the question you must answer is why this mission allows the conservative Vulcans to address this debate now. If you can answer this question a solution might present itself."

Kirk paused. "T'Van, you said we could not speak to Vulcans. What about Ambassador Sarek's wife? Could we speak with her?"

T'Van shook her head. "There would be no need to speak with me if that was possible."

Kirk rubbed his forehead, then hit the comm. "Bridge, open hailing frequencies with Vulcan."

_"Aye, sir. Hailing frequencies open."_

Kirk nodded and activated the view screen in the briefing room. A moment later, a thin, austere Vulcan face appeared on the screen. "This is Captain Kirk of the Federation ship, U.S.S. _Enterprise_. We're in orbit around Vulcan and waiting to take over the _Long Beach_'s survey mission. I'd like to speak with Ambassador Sarek."

"Your orbit is confirmed, Captain. Remain on board ship and stand by for further instructions," the viewscreen went dead.

There was silence in the room.

"That's exactly how they've treated us for the past few months," Martin's teeth grated.

Kirk's eyes narrowed but before he could speak, Spock rose to his feet. "T'Van, Doctor McCoy, accompany me to the Bridge." Then he turned on his heel and strode out of the room before anyone else could react.

* * *

Wild horses couldn't have kept them away. Quickly, the senior officers took their stations on the bridge. The three _Long Beach_ officers found a quiet place out of the way to watch as Spock stepped down into the well of the Bridge. "Lieutenant Uhura, re-establish contact," he ordered as if the Captain wasn't present. The Communications Officer glanced uncertainly at Kirk, who nodded. He was frowning but he wasn't prepared to interfere just yet. He trusted Spock had identified a way to handle this situation that the Humans had so far failed to find.

The same Vulcan reappeared on the viewscreen, one eyebrow raised. Without preamble, Spock spoke in the Vulcan tongue. What followed was only a brief conversation but ended with Spock suddenly drawing himself up to his full height and issuing what appeared to be an ultimatum of some kind. Certainly the _Enterprise _crew recognised his command tone but never had they seen him quite so imperialistic. T'Van stepped gracefully down into the well to stand next to him, chin lifted, looking as dignified as the First Officer. The administrator on the viewscreen stiffened in response as she joined in the conversation.

Apparently unsettled, the Vulcan cut communication again. Feeling his head starting to pound, Kirk moved forward but Spock raised his hand. "One moment, Captain," he murmured quietly, eyes still fixed on the viewscreen.

Moments later, the Vulcan was back on the screen and nodded once to T'Van. He seemed about to cut the connection when Spock spoke again, this time in Federation Standard. "Doctor McCoy and I will accompany T'Vanan to the surface."

"Unacceptable. I have informed you of the regulations."

"You specified exceptions could be made during an emergency. We have an emergency on board. One of our crew has experienced a life-threatening condition. At the Science Academy is a doctor with knowledge of her medical history. The Science Officer and Chief Medical Officer of the _Enterprise_ require his expertise and resources to resolve this matter."

"Doctor's name?"

"M'Benga."

"Patient's name?"

"Christine Chapel."

The Vulcan looked away, apparently seeking confirmation. "Very well. T'Vanan will be transported to her husband's location. You and Doctor McCoy will be transported to the Science Academy. You are restricted to the campus and will return to the _Enterprise_ once you have received the information you require to save Doctor Chapel's life. This is not negotiable."

"That is acceptable."

The Vulcan nodded curtly and cut the commlink.

Spock turned back to face Kirk and a very silent Bridge.

"Are you going to explain any of that?" Kirk demanded.

"I have acquired permission for T'Van, myself and Doctor McCoy to transport down to Vulcan," Spock replied.

"And...?"

"I was correct, Captain," T'Van said. "Part of the reason for the lack of communication between the Council and your two starships is because of Spock's presence in Starfleet. Another reason is that Vulcans do not feel Humans need to know what happens during council sessions on a planet that not their own."

"They're being arrogant and pig-headed in other words," McCoy grunted.

T'Van met his gaze evenly. "Yes."

McCoy looked startled at her agreement then grinned, a slightly disbelieving expression on his face and turned to Spock. "She agreed with me!"

"She is distracted by personal matters," Spock replied dryly then changed the subject. "Doctor, we must be ready to transport to the surface in 15.21 minutes."

McCoy scowled at him suddenly. "And that reminds me. M'Benga doesn't know anything about Christine's medical history that I don't."

"I surmised as much, Doctor," Spock admitted blandly.

The CMO looked shocked. "You _lied_!"

"Vulcans do not lie, Doctor. It is entirely possible Doctor M'Benga can help you. It would be illogical not to utilise his abilities. It would also be illogical for me not to make full use of the Science Academy resources during the time we are searching for a diagnosis," he turned to Kirk. "Permission to transport to Vulcan, Captain."

McCoy stared at him for a few moments then glanced at Kirk who was grinning wryly. "Permission granted, Spock," was all the Captain said.

* * *

Spock headed for Transporter Room 2, deep in thought. So deep in thought, in fact, that he didn't know he had a companion until he stepped in the turbolift and T'Van instructed the computer before he could speak.

"You are distracted," she said.

Considering that to be an unnecessary statement, Spock chose not to respond at all. She turned to face him fully and tilted her head so she could look him in the eye. "Your friends are interesting people," she said calmly. "People of good character. Starfleet is good for you."

His eyebrow shot up. "You have revised your decision."

"I have. I am not as stubborn as some."

"T'Van..."

"Don't "T'Van" me, Spahkh. You believe I am too illogical for a Vulcan. I have concluded the teachings of Surak have merit and I do not ignore them. But I am no more Vulcan than you are and I accept Surak could not foresee our situation. That is not a betrayal of the Vulcan way, it is acknowledgement of the true logic of applying Surak's wisdom to the reality instead of the interpretation. Too many full-blooded Vulcans aspire to an interpretation instead of acknowledging the reality. Sodek accepts my logic. Why can't you?"

He gave her an intent look "Is this a conversation or a debate, T'Van-kam? Your defensiveness is not logical."

"Are you teasing me, Spahkh-kam?"

"That would be illogical."

Her lips twitched. "You are."

He raised an eyebrow at her but neither confirmed nor denied it as they stepped out of the turbolift and headed for the transporter room.

"This woman who is ill, Doctor Chapel. She is the blonde Lieutenant I observed in the rec room, is she not?" T'Van asked thoughtfully as they walked down the corridor.

Spock studied her for a moment before answering. "Yes."

She was silent, as if considering something. "What is her prognosis?"

"Doctors McCoy and M'Benga are competent Medical Officers," was all Spock said.

She lifted her eyes to give him an intent look but his attention remained focused on the route ahead of them. He was completely expressionless and she knew the conversation would not progress.

"Spahkh, has working on board a Human ship affected your ability to meditate?" T'Van asked instead.

His eyebrow shot up. "Any inability to meditate I experience is an internal matter. It is difficult to shield against Human emotions but not impossible. Have you experienced difficulties?"

"For the last 5.2 days." She paused outside the transporter room. "When I have attempted to meditate, I have experienced emotional contexts I am unfamiliar with. I have also dreamed frequently. My dreams have involved members of this crew. I theorised it was because I am unused to being in such close proximity to Humans for sustained periods of time."

"That does not seem likely," Spock said slowly.

She nodded once and stepped into the transporter room where Doctor McCoy was waiting impatiently for them. Spock followed, thinking swiftly. T'Van nodded to McCoy. "It has been a ... pleasure meeting you, Doctor," she said to him.

McCoy looked startled for a moment, then smiled. "And it was a pleasure meeting you, missy," his blue eyes twinkled. "You almost restored my faith in the universe."

Her eyes twinkled back. "May you find a cure for your friend soon."

At that, he sobered. "Damn straight I will," the wealth of determination in his voice was a testimony to how seriously he took that vow.

T'Van stepped up onto the transporter pad and started to raise her hand in the Vulcan salute when Spock stepped forward, dark eyes intent. "T'Van-kam, in your dreams, where were you?"

He had spoken in Vulcan but the computerised echo to his words told him immediately that McCoy must have already activated his universal translator ready for beaming down to Vulcan. He resisted the urge to stiffen at the breach of privacy.

"Sometimes I was on board the _Enterprise_. Sometimes I was at Starfleet Headquarters."

"Did you find yourself concentrating on any members of the crew in particular?"

She stared at him then both eyebrows rose. "Indeed. Doctor Chapel."

"Indeed," Spock muttered. "I beg thy forgiveness for the personal nature of the questions."

"Forgiveness is thine," she replied easily but there was a hint of impatience as she raised her hand in the Vulcan salute this time. "Live long and prosper."

"Peace and long life," he responded in kind then nodded at the technician to energise.

As soon as T'Van was gone, McCoy sighed. "I'm sorry about the translator, Spock, I didn't plan on eavesdropping."

"It is irrelevant, Doctor," Spock sounded distracted, he turned and began moving towards the door.

"Spock, where the devil do you think you are going?" McCoy demanded incredulously.  
"To test a theory. Ensign, inform the Captain and Vulcan we will be transporting late due to medical reasons. Doctor, please accompany me to Sickbay."

Spock didn't say anything more until they reached Sickbay. When they arrived they found Kirk standing there. "What's going on?" he demanded.

The Vulcan breezed passed him without answering, heading to Chapel's bed where she lay as still and silent as the day she had been found in the lab.

"Bones?"

McCoy gave Kirk a helpless look. "I don't know, Jim," he moved across to stand on the opposite side of the bed as Spock bent over her, studying her face intently. Before either the CMO or Captain could react, Spock pressed his fingers lightly to Chapel's meld points and closed his eyes. Seconds later, the Vulcan gasped and sank to his knees.

"Spock?" Kirk was at his side, steadying him almost immediately. With McCoy's help, he eased his First Officer onto a nearby biobed. Spock's eyes flew open and his grip tightened like a vice on Kirk's arm. The Captain's swift hiss of pain seemed to bring the Vulcan back to his senses. His eyes focused and he pushed himself up. "Did I injure you, Jim?"

"I'll be fine," Kirk said flatly as McCoy ran a tricorder over his arm to double-check that assessment.

"That's going to be some real nasty bruising," the CMO corrected dryly.

Kirk ignored it. "I want explanations, Mr. Spock," he snapped.

"For the past 5.2 days my meditations have been interrupted by what I am inaccurately forced to classify as dreams. I have also been dreaming when I sleep. My dreams follow a similar pattern. I am either walking through the corridors of this ship listening to the crew converse around me or I am on Earth at Starfleet Headquarters, again listening to the crew converse around me. The one crewmember I always see is Doctor Chapel but she is the only one I have not heard speak. She also seems disoriented," he hesitated only briefly before continuing. "Just before T'Van transported to Vulcan, she told me she had been experiencing such dreams, also for 5.2 days. She believes it is because she is unused to the proximity of so many Humans. That did not explain why I was experiencing these dreams as I am acclimatised to the presence of unshielded Humans."

"What brought you here?" Kirk asked, now more curious than angry. He knew that most of Spock's physiology followed Vulcan norm rather than Human norm, and like Vulcans, Spock rarely dreamed.

"I theorised that since the common factor in both our dreams is Doctor Chapel and our dreams coincide with her comatose state the answer may lie with her," he paused and his gaze slid passed Kirk and McCoy to rest on the unconscious woman's face.

"What happened when you melded with her, Spock?" McCoy asked impatiently.

"I did not meld with her," Spock corrected softly. "I only touched her but I was overwhelmed by the activity in her mind," there was a flicker of horror in his eyes as he continued. "She is not unconscious, she is completely aware of her surroundings. Her mind has been awakened to the thoughts and emotions of everyone around her in the manner of a telepath. Unlike a telepath she cannot control the input she is receiving," his eyes fixed on McCoy. "Doctor, she has suffered sensory overload and may be in neural shock. If this is not resolved she will become irreversibly insane."


End file.
